


always, forever, until my dying day

by lovecamedown



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Both Survive WW II, Both went down in the valkyrie, Codependency, Coming Out, Detailed Depictions of Grief, Established Relationship, Fainting, Grief, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, Living Together, M/M, PTSD, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-War, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, SO, Sickfic, The Avengers - Freeform, They both survive the war but like they both freeze together and then wake up in 2011, both survive the war, post-serum Bucky, pre-serum bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovecamedown/pseuds/lovecamedown
Summary: Steve is grieving for his mother. Bucky does all he can to help him.Then suddenly they're in the war, and they're going down in that airplane, and everything is not how they planned but at least they're together. At the end.Until it's not the end, and they wake up in the future; having to get used to this new world with only each other left from their old lives. (But maybe that's all they need).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this first part is mostly from Bucky’s POV but there’s a lil bit in there from Steve’s bc I wanted to explore that side of the grieving process as well, seeing as most of the first part of this fic is based around Steve’s grief.  
> Enjoy :)

Bucky does everything he can to help Steve as he’s grieving.

The first few months after Sarah dies go so painfully slowly. Bucky misses her, of course he does – she raised him, too, in a way – but seeing Steve falling apart like he is is the worst thing Bucky has ever been through.

Sometimes, helping Steve is just leaving him alone.

Steve'll sit by the window or in Bucky’s room or on the couch, and just draw in to himself. And Bucky will watch and try to pretend he’s _not_ watching; trying to give Steve as much space as possible without giving him much space at all. It’s a strange balance. Bucky knows Steve wants to be alone, and he honours that, but _fuck_ , leaving Steve by himself when he has that lost, sad, guarded look in his eyes and everything about him is screaming _I’m not okay_ , is the most painful thing to do.

He’ll offer Steve a drink every hour. And when Steve turns it down a few hours in a row, he’ll hand the glass of water to Steve anyway, and he takes it with a sad little smile, not lifting his eyes to look at Bucky.

It breaks Bucky’s heart, but he knows he’s doing all he can.

 

Sometimes, helping Steve means sitting with him in the night while he shakes and cries, just running a hand over his hair until he eventually falls asleep, and Bucky can too.

“Bucky, it’s okay, you can—you can go to sleep,” Steve drags a hand over his face, turning away from Bucky just a little bit.

Bucky shakes his head. Wants to take a gentle hold of Steve’s jaw and turn it back around to face him, look in to his eyes and telling him not to worry, not to ever worry, because he’s going to be there for him without question; anytime, anywhere.  
Instead, Bucky just exhales and tries not to cry. “Steve,” he says, “it’s okay.” And he’s told him this a hundred times, but now isn’t the time to argue over how much Steve tries to tell Bucky he doesn’t need to help.

“Seriously, I’m fine—”

Bucky cuts him off by carting his hand through Steve’s hair again, from the front right down to the nape of his neck. This is a way they’ve always touched each other; always used it as a comfort. Every time Steve’s been sick; every time Bucky’s been going through another family rift. Hands-in-hair is how they communicate so much. Maybe as much as they kiss.

(And, more often than not, _while_ they kiss.)

This hand through Steve’s hair is saying, _shut up, Steve, and accept my damn help. You’re not alone and I’m not going anywhere_.

Steve sighs, reluctantly relaxing, closing his eyes and leaning in to Bucky’s touch. “Buck…,” he doesn’t go anywhere with his sentence.

“Steve,” Bucky smirks softly.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

Steve looks like he’s about to protest, but Bucky’s hand is running back through his hair again. His bottom lip quivers as more tears rise behind his eyelids, then fall down when he opens his eyes in to Bucky’s.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky whispers, laying him back down against his pillows. “It’s okay.”

And Steve lies on his side, crying properly now, Bucky’s hand still softly moving over his hair. He props himself up on his elbow beside him and watches until Steve’s breathing slows, and his tears stop, and he’s cried himself to sleep.

Bucky’s heart breaks. He thinks about leaning in to kiss his forehead, but doesn’t want to wake him up. Instead, he lays an arm over Steve and lets himself close his eyes for the first time all night.

 

 

Sometimes, helping Steve is taking his hand when his favourite song plays on the radio while you’re cooking, and pulling him in, and starting to dance.

Steve is sad and a little reluctant to move at first, but Bucky wraps an arm around Steve’s waist and holds their joined hands out at their sides, and Steve soon melts in to it.

He presses his forehead in to Bucky’s collarbone and holds his hand tight, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s middle. They sway together slowly, a few tears escaping Steve’s eyes and soaking in to Bucky’s grey T-shirt.

“Bucky,” he whispers, and Bucky waits for him to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t. Just holds on tighter. Bucky thinks it might be Steve’s way of saying _thank you_.

He presses his nose in to Steve’s hair. His chest swells with both love and heartbreak when he feels Steve nuzzle in closer and there are more tears on his cheeks.

The next song on the radio is a faster one; one of Steve’s other favourites the station has been playing a lot lately, and when Steve’s in a happy mood, all his features will light up, and Bucky’s heart will soar.

This time, Steve sniffs as the song changes and he begins to pull away, but Bucky just grins at him and says, “come on, Rogers, dance with me.”

“I can’t dance, Buck.”

“Sure you can,” he pulls him back in so they’re in the same position they were before, only this time he’s moving and dipping them quickly, spinning them around the kitchen. He holds Steve tight and makes sure to keep a smile on his face as his mouth sits against the side of Steve’s head, hoping Steve can feel it.

He loosens up after a few moments. Bucky can almost feel the laughter bubbling in Steve’s chest, and then he’s laughing out loud, holding on tightly to Bucky’s shoulder and eventually falling in to step with him. They laugh together, Bucky twirling Steve under his arm and dipping him down a few times, leaning down as if he’s going to press their lips together, but he always pulls him back up before their lips meet. It makes Steve smile and shake his head fondly.

“You’re a tease, Buck,”

And Bucky is a little too caught up in Steve's grin to answer for a tiny moment. When he finally composes himself, he chuckles and presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “There,” he grins, “’that satisfy you?”

“Considering how you keep acting like you’re gonna kiss me…,”

Bucky laughs and just twirls him under his arm again. “Isn’t dancing with me good enough?” He teases, thankful for the light atmosphere and for Steve’s bright chuckle in his ear.

“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Steve sighs overdramatically, teasing, “it _is_ enough.”

“You’re a sap.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

Steve releases their joined hands at their sides in favour of running his palm up over Bucky's shoulder and to the back of his neck, working his fingers in to Bucky’s dark hair. He sighs, and Bucky feels it on his neck as he holds Steve tight, wrapping his arms fully around Steve’s waist and making sure he stays close.

“I’m also a jerk, according to you,” he teases, spreading his fingers out on Steve’s back and feeling the notches of his spine.

Steve snorts lightly in to Bucky’s skin. “Not always.”

* * *

The first time Steve gets sick after his mother dies is very rough.

She used to take such good care of him. She’d sit by him at his bedside, bring him warm towels to wipe his brow, bring homemade soup and mugs of boiled cooled water to keep him hydrated without having to swallow something uncomfortably cold. She would read to him, run a hand through his hair as he fell asleep, and even sing to him when he couldn’t quite fall off in to a dream.

And now he’s living with Bucky and trying not to be a nuisance when he starts feeling his forehead getting hot one afternoon, and his body begins to ache. He knows he’s getting sick because his chest starts feeling heavy and his breathing gets more laboured. And he knows it’s likely to worsen overnight, so he mutters to Bucky before they go to bed that he’s going to stay on his own tonight, even though they have the house to themselves.

Bucky looks disappointed, but he doesn’t question it or argue. Probably because he’s been so good at giving Steve space when he needs it and just figures now is one of those times.

Only now, Steve is cold and shivering at midnight and Bucky’s up in his bed and Steve wants to be beside him now more than ever. He doesn’t _want_ space. He just wants to stop feeling like his body is shutting down on him. He wants to not be terrified that it’s going to turn in to something worse again and he’ll end up back in the hospital with lungs trying to kill him. And most of all, he wants his Ma.

Tears rise in Steve’s throat when he pictures her coming in with a mug of water and a book to read to him, and his tears catch and turn in to coughs. Coughs that start quiet but soon grow in to Steve basically coughing his guts up, and it’s becoming increasingly hard to press his face in to the pillow to try and hide the sound from Bucky.

Bucky wakes up, of course. “You okay?” He asks, sounding a lot more awake than Steve had expected. He's quick to wake fully.

“Yeah,” Steve pants, recovering. “Just…sick. I think.”

Bucky’s sitting up, climbing out of bed and coming straight over to Steve on the floor. “Is it your lungs? Do you need a doctor?” He’s got that deeply worried frown on his face, and yeah, his fears aren’t unfounded. When Steve’s had pneumonia before he’s always only just gone to the hospital in time.

“No, it’s—it’s just a cold. For now.”

“Okay,” Bucky breathes out and runs a hand through his hair. There’s a beat of silence.

Steve sniffs, lying back down, feeling very grim and very sorry for himself. By now, his Ma would be sitting by him with all the comfort in the world.

But she’s not here now.

Bucky’s hand is running tentatively over Steve’s hair, knowing how he can get drawn in on himself when he’s sick. “You need anything?” He asks.

Steve shakes his head. _I need my Ma to come and run her hand down my cheek and sing to me until I’m asleep_. “No. I’m okay.”

“Are you warm enough?”

Steve feels tears sting at his eyes again and he tries to swallow them down, ending up just making himself cough again. Bucky’s hand grows a little stronger in his hair and for a tiny, fleeting moment, Steve allows himself to imagine it’s his mother’s hand. But he knows it’s not.

It makes him want to cry more.

Instead of worrying Bucky even more, and making the ache in his chest grow, he turns away.

Bucky’s hand stills. “Steve?”

“Just go back to sleep, Buck,” Steve rasps.

“Steve, I’m not just gonna leave you—”

“I’m fine.” He coughs again. Badly.

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m _fine_ —” He has to sit up again because the coughs are wracking through his ribcage and lying down makes it feel like he’s going to choke.

“Hey,” Bucky soothes, rubbing his hand in circles over Steve’s back. “Hey, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay…try and breathe, babydoll.”

Steve’s throat calms down a little after a few minutes, Bucky’s hand still softly moving over his shoulders and back. He takes a few breaths as deep as he can and then lies back down, still facing away from Bucky.

Bucky sighs. “Steve,” he says softly, hand stilled on Steve’s arm.

“I’m fine.”

“Steve…why are you being…so guarded? You’re pulling away from me, doll,” his voice is so soft and gentle and Steve wants to cry. Wants to lie there and curl in to a ball and weep like a baby. Bucky continues, “It’s only me. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

Steve sighs. Reaches up to wipe away a traitorous tear. “It’s not that, Buck,” he whispers hoarsely. “It’s just…I miss my Ma. I miss—how she used to take care of me when I was sick. And it’s not—it’s not that I don’t think you’ll take care of me, Buck, I just…I want my Ma more than ever, right now.” Steve rolls on to his back and looks up at Bucky through squinted eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling. Bucky’s eyes are sad, and he looks close to tears, too.

A moment passes before he takes a small breath to speak. “How did she used to help you?”

And Steve finds himself smiling fondly, finally giving in and letting himself start to cry. He tells Bucky about how his Ma always made sure he was comfortable and never alone, not letting him get up and do anything no matter how much he insisted on helping. He tells him about the damp towels on his forehead, the mugs of comforting warm water, the thermometer in his mouth every hour as she monitored his temperature, the hand she used to run through his hair to comfort him during a coughing fit, the hand running over his back in soothing circles.

By the end of his recounting of the old days, Steve is really crying, tears pooling on the corners of his lips, and Bucky has their hands clasped tightly together. Steve notices the fact Bucky’s hand isn’t in his hair anymore, even though that’s usually standard; he’s probably trying to be mindful of the way his Ma used to do it, too.

There’s a long moment of silence, Steve recovering from his crying and trying to breathe evenly.

“Would it…,” Bucky starts, but his words fade off.

Steve looks up at him. “Would it what?”

“Would it…be weird if I…did some of those things for you? Would that help, or—or do you just want it between you and your Ma? Either way, I’m fine with it.”

Steve wants to decline. Opens his mouth to do so, in fact. He wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that it’s not his job to take care of him like this (even though Bucky has been taking care of him _forever_ ).

But the idea of a loving, familiar hand running softly through his hair and a careful towel being dabbed on his forehead is just too much to resist right now.

So he closes his mouth, and he nods.

Bucky’s lips turn up at the corners slightly. “Yeah?”

Steve nods again.

“What do you need?”

“Mm…,” Steve murmurs, feeling the post-crying tiredness fall over him, sniffing and rubbing his face. “Hand in my hair?”

He hears Bucky laugh softly through his nose and then reach his hand up to move gently through Steve’s hair. “Do you wanna lie in bed? I can hold you, if ya like.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Buck.”

Bucky stands up and reaches down to help Steve up, but Steve bats his hand away and tells him he can walk himself. Bucky hums his doubt but Steve ignores him, flopping down on to the bed after a few steps. His legs are still hanging over the edge of the mattress and he slowly lifts them up and tucks them under the blankets.

“Need anything? I’ll get you some water; do you want me to boil it?”

“No, it’s okay, you can save time and just come to bed.”

“It’s okay if you want hot water—”

“Really, Buck,” Steve insists, and he means it, “it’s okay. Just want you here to warm me up.” He pulls the blankets up over himself and Bucky leans down to press his lips to his forehead.

“I’ll be back in just a tick, babydoll.”

Steve lies in almost comfortable silence before Bucky is back in the room carrying a glass of water, running his spare hand through his own hair and messing it up even more.

“Here,” he says softly, “do you want some now?”

Steve nods and slowly sits up. He takes the glass from Bucky, but his hand is shaking, and as much as he tries to insist he’s fine, Bucky just shakes his head, takes the glass in his own hand and lifts it up to Steve’s lips. He gently holds the back of his head to support his neck.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says softly after taking a few careful sips.

“Just let me know when you need more, okay?”

Steve nods, curling up against Bucky as soon as he lies down beside him. Familiar arms are wrapped around his body, pulling him up against Bucky’s chest. Steve hooks a leg over Bucky’s and he wants to sigh heavily but he’s afraid it’ll catch in his throat and make him cough again. So instead, he just wraps an arm over Bucky’s waist, closes his eyes in to the feeling of a loving hand running through his hair, another hand pressed against his forehead.

“I’m here,” Bucky whispers. “I’m here, Steve.”

Steve cuddles in closer. “Love you. Thank you, Buck.”

“I love you too. I’m _here_.”

* * *

A few more months go by, and Steve isn’t much better in himself, but he chooses to be alone a lot less than he did before, and Bucky counts that as progress.

He knows Steve will never fully get over this. Of course he won’t. And he will always be changed by losing his mother.

But Bucky knows in his heart of hearts, and reminds Steve of this every day, that it won’t hurt this bad forever. One day he’ll wake up and realise it hurts the tiniest bit less, and he’ll be able to breathe easier again.

Steve has started to draw his mother again. Some drawings are darker and sadder and Steve usually keeps them to himself, except one painting he shows Bucky once in the middle of the night when he can’t stop crying. Most of the drawings are happy memories, though; memories that make Steve cry but also smile at the same time. Sarah is beautiful, as she always was, in the way Steve draws her. He gets the look in her eyes just right. Bucky wants to kiss Steve silly because he’s so talented.

 

Steve urges Bucky to go out dancing one night after a girl asked him out at work. It’s still strange, never loses the oddness of it, when someone asks either of them (usually, if not always, Bucky, if he’s being honest) out on a date, and they tell each other to go, because it keeps up appearances. They know it’s for the best, but it’s definitely a strange sensation to be telling your boyfriend to go out on a date with someone else.

It’s even stranger tonight, because this is the first time it’s happened since Sarah died, and there’s an odd look in Steve’s eyes. Bucky wonders at first if maybe he wants to be alone so he can cry.

“You okay?” Bucky asks carefully, testing the waters.

“Yeah. Fine. I just think you should go. You haven’t been dancing in a while.”

“Yeah, but…will you be okay? Without me here? I might be gone ’til late…,”

“I’ll be fine, Buck,” Steve smiles softly at him, but it’s got a sad edge that he’s clearly trying to hide.

Bucky steps closer, a dress shirt in one hand, reaching out with the other to cup Steve’s face. “What’s goin' on? You’ve got a look in your eyes that’s all… _off_.”

Steve chuckles. It’s fake. “I’m fine, Bucky, I promise. Now, go get ready.”

He leaves a kiss on Steve’s forehead before stepping back to pull his shirt on. Steve steps close to fasten the buttons for him, and Bucky brushes his lips over his forehead again, just leaving them there for a long second and closing his eyes.

“I love you,” he breathes, because he’s pretty sure Steve needs to hear that right now, even if he’s not sure why.

“I love you too,” Steve kisses him on the lips. “Go have fun tonight, okay? You haven’t had that in a while. Not with me bein’ all miserable.”

“I’ve had plenty fun,” Bucky scoffs. “ _We_ have had plenty fun. You sure you’ll be alright here?”

“I’m _fine_.”

Bucky exhales, then nods softly. “Okay.”

 

 

Bucky gets home just before midnight. He drinks a glass of water, makes sure his parents are asleep, then heads in to his room to see Steve on the couch cushions on the floor.

“Hey,” Steve whispers.

“Hey. They’re asleep,” he says, part of their usual routine; checking everyone else is asleep so Steve can get up off the floor and in to Bucky’s bed, where he belongs. They set the alarm clock in the morning, too, for an hour before people start waking up, so no one walks in unexpectedly and finds them together. There are only so many excuses.

It’s become such a routine that it’s not even hard work anymore.

Steve pushes back his sheets and climbs in to the bed while Bucky strips off his shirt and his trousers and runs a hand through his hair.

They cuddle up together, and there’s a weird kind of silence in the air. It’s not uncomfortable, that’s not it at all; it’s just…loaded. In an odd way. Kind of like it was before Bucky left. He’s starting to think Steve has something he wants to say.

Minutes of silence stretch on.

Turns out, he does have something to say. It’s just not what Bucky was expecting.

“I want to have kids with you, Bucky,” he says against Bucky’s neck, an arm draped over Bucky’s bare stomach.

“What?” Bucky can’t help the amused tone to his voice. He’s lying on his back with his arms around Steve, who is half-lying on top of him.

“I want a future with you,” Steve says, and his voice sounds so emotional, so urgent.

Bucky looks down at him and frowns, running a hand through Steve’s fine hair. He looks up so their eyes meet, and there’s a deep crease in his brow that Bucky wants to kiss away.

Instead, he brushes his thumb over his cheekbone. “Oh, Steve, we do have a future together,” he soothes.

Steve holds Bucky’s wrist where his hand is on his face and turns his head to kiss the inside of it. “I want to marry you,” he sounds so desperate, with tears on the edges of his eyes, and Bucky is starting to get the gist now. This is why Steve was acting so weird earlier.

Steve continues, tears in his voice, “I want to be your husband, and have a life together; with a house in the suburbs and a white picket fence. I want kids, a dog. I want to be with you forever. Why can’t it be like that, Buck? Why can’t we have that?”

Bucky swallows back his own tears, already feeling the strain of being out on a date with someone tonight who _wasn’t Steve_ , and shifts a little so he can properly cup Steve’s face in his hand. “The world is cruel, Steve,” he says, so softly. “But I hope one day it won’t be _as_ cruel, and people will start realising that a love like ours is more than okay. And maybe we _can_ have all of that.”

“But what if we can’t? I—I see you out there with all those girls, and it’s so easy, it’s…it’s allowed. You’re allowed to walk down the street and hold their hands; kiss them, if you wanted…,”

“Hey," Bucky whispers, “you know it’s only you I want. I’m yours, Steve. No one else’s. I don’t give a damn about no one else.”

Steve sighs. “I know,” he whispers back. “I know, Buck. But we have to face the fact that we can never have the life we could have if we weren’t both boys.”

Bucky nods. Then, his lips tilt in to a weak smirk, and he tries to make Steve smile by joking, “guess we’ll just have to find a way to travel to the future where everyone is equal and we can walk down the street holding hands.”

Steve chuckles. It’s sad, but genuine, this time. He leans in and softly kisses Bucky on the lips. “I guess so.”

“Until then,” Bucky presses his mouth against Steve’s head as he gets settled back on his chest. It’s not really a kiss; he’s more just settling there, his breath brushing Steve’s hair. “…I’m happy to lay together every night when people don’t know. Hold you when we’re alone. Kiss you in the dark. Dance with you in the kitchen until someone comes home. Then when we finally save up enough, we can move out, and our time at home will be time together, and it’ll be almost perfect,” he’s running his hand back through Steve’s hair. “If that’s still what you want.”

“It is what I want,” Steve says, holding on to Bucky’s bicep and turning to kiss his chest. “It’s always what I want. Forever.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And then when we finally find our way in to the future…,”

Steve laughs, a true laugh that makes Bucky’s heart soar. “Yeah, Buck. The future.” Then, he pushes himself up and moves so his knees are on either side of Bucky.

Bucky smirks up at him. “Steve, it’s late.”

Steve bites his lip, like he’s genuinely a little bit sorry, but he also slides his hands down Bucky’s chest and then hovers above him with his elbows on each side of Bucky’s head. “Sorry,” he says, “I just really wanted to kiss on ya a little.”

Bucky sighs, like letting himself be kissed is such a huge feat. “I suppose I’ll let ya.”

Steve chuckles, the tail end of the noise getting caught against Bucky’s neck as his lips press against it. “You _suppose_? Jeez, Buck, know how to make a guy feel wanted.”

Bucky sighs again, this time letting himself relax, sliding his hands up Steve’s bare spine and closing his eyes as those familiar lips open against his jaw. “You are wanted,” he murmurs, a little lost in the feeling of Steve so close. “So, so wanted.”

* * *

Steve goes to visit his parents’ graves once a month. He lays flowers for them, and sits by his ma’s headstone until the damp grass underneath him spreads cold down to his bones.

He loved his father, but he was especially close to his ma. It’s harder on him to see her grave than anyone else’s.

At first, in the initial few months after Sarah passed, Steve couldn’t bring himself to go and see her. It was too much, he said, quietly mumbling to Bucky in the dark hours of the night that it was too hard to see her name engraved on it and, below, the dates through which she lived. Bucky understands that. It’s too final; when you’re away from the graveyard, it’s easier to feel a connection to the person you lost, to feel like they’re still close even though they’re not here. But standing there, in front of the grave, looking down at the flowers and the name…it’s real. It hits you again and again and again. It’s a constant reminder.

Steve started going to visit her in the fourth month and, by the sixth month, he was asking Bucky to go along.

And now even ten months later, it’s still cold and quiet and heartbreaking every time they walk up to her headstone. Every time Bucky watches Steve lay the bunch of flowers down, then kiss his fingers, bringing them down to press against the headstone. Sometimes, Bucky hears him whisper, “I love you, Ma.” Sometimes he doesn’t say anything at all.

And they’ll sit or stand together, not really touching because they’re in public and it’s too risky. But they’ll be close, their arms and knees brushing. Mostly, they sit by the grave and Steve will just reach out to touch the stone, his thumb absently smoothing over it as if he’s holding her hand.

“You know,” Steve says in to the silence today, startling Bucky a little, “I don’t know what Ma would’ve thought about this. About…us.”

Bucky tenses a little. “Are you…do you…are you sure you want to talk about this…you know—here?”

Steve considers this for a moment, then bits his lip and looks down, slowly beginning to shake his head.

 _Fuck it,_ Bucky thinks. _No one’s out here anyway._ He reaches out and takes Steve’s hand. He takes it subtly, hiding their hands under Steve’s leg, and squeezes.

“Your Ma loved you,” Bucky says softly. “She loved you, and she wanted you to be happy.”

Steve sniffs. Bucky watches as a tear falls down his cheek. He’s used to this feeling; wanting to touch Steve, to comfort him, to wipe away his tears, but not be able to. It’s such a familiar ache in his chest that anyone would think he’d be used to it, that it wouldn’t hurt quite as much. But it does. It always does.

“I know,” Steve whispers eventually, and squeezes Bucky’s hand just a little. “I know that.” And then, after another long moment of silence, the wind blowing gently across their skin as they breathe in to the quiet, Steve takes a deep breath and starts to stand up. “Come on, we should go. I’m gettin’ real cold.”

Bucky stands up with him and lets go of his hand (very, very reluctantly). “Need my scarf?”

“I’m okay,”

“Sure?”

Steve nods. “I’m sure. Come on,” he turns back to the headstone and leaves another kiss on it via his fingertips, then turns to Bucky and gives him a weak little smile. “Let’s go home.”

 

“You really think that?” Steve asks when they get home, taking off their coats and hats and scarves.

“Think what?”

“That Ma would’ve wanted me to be happy,” Steve’s voice is soft and vulnerable. He’s avoiding Bucky’s eyes. “Even if that meant…you know.” He gestures between them, not saying it out loud, not sure yet if anyone else is home.

Bucky nods seriously. “I do think that. I believe it.”

“Really?” Steve looks up at him then, with a soft and scared look in his beautiful eyes.

Bucky nods. Then he calls over his shoulder, “We’re back! Anyone home?” and waits for a few long moments for movement or replies. “Ma? Pa? Bec?” No one responds. So he reaches out and cups Steve’s face in his hands. “Really,” he says, voice soft this time, answering Steve’s question. “I love you, Steve.”

Steve reaches out and tangles his fingers in Bucky’s hair. “I love you, too.” He leans in, presses a kiss to Bucky’s lips. And he barely pulls away, keeping their lips right up together so his breath is passing through Bucky’s slightly parted ones.

Bucky breathes, gently wrapping his hands around the back of Steve’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “What time is it?”

Steve glances over Bucky’s shoulder to look at the clock before putting their heads back together, fisting his other hand in Bucky’s shirt. “Four.”

“Reckon we got time before someone comes home to…?” Bucky bites his lip, looking in to Steve’s eyes, searching, hoping his expression is plenty suggestive.

Steve grins a little and opens his mouth to speak, tightening his grip on Bucky, before they’re broken apart by the sound of keys in the door. They instantly separate and Bucky sorts out his hair before murmuring, “guess not”. And then Winifred is walking through the door, handbag over her shoulder and a smile appearing on her face when she sees Steve and Bucky standing there.

“Hey, Ma.”

“Hi, boys.”

Bucky and Steve share a glance before Bucky turns around and tries to shake the need to be standing right next to Steve and holding his hand.

This feeling is too familiar.

* * *

 

“Sometimes I talk to her,” Steve whispers against Bucky’s neck, so quietly as if he barely wants Bucky to hear. Bucky considers not replying, in case it was something he just wanted to confess silently, but then Steve asks, “is that weird?”

Bucky frowns. “No,” he answers right away. “That’s not weird at all.”

“I—I only really speak to her when I’m there alone, in case you thought it was weird for me to…you know. Speak to a headstone.”

Bucky runs his hand through Steve’s hair and holds him in tighter. “I don’t think that,” he says softly. “I really don’t. If you want to talk to her when I’m there…you can, Steve.”

A few minutes of silence pass. Bucky has his fingertips smoothing down Steve’s temple, and he’s just dropping off to sleep, relaxing in to the feel of Steve’s chest rising and falling against his ribs.

But then Steve’s chest is shaking a little, and Bucky feels water on his neck, and he realises in a second that Steve’s crying.

“Hey, Steve?” Bucky whispers. “You alright?”

“’M fine,”

“No you’re not,”

He sighs. “No, I’m not.”

“It’s okay not to be,”

“I just—” but his words just get lost in his throat somewhere because Bucky can tell he doesn’t really know what he wants to say. Bucky holds him tighter, then, knowing Steve’s struggling for words. “I miss her, Buck.”

“I know.”

“How can I…how can I do any of this without her, I…?”

Bucky rubs his hand up and down Steve’s arm and presses a kiss to his head. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Steve holds on tighter. Bucky does so in return.

“You’ll always have me,” Bucky whispers. “Always. I’m not goin’ nowhere, Steve. Never. Always gonna be with you. Right by your side.”

“Me too, Buck,” Steve promises, his voice just a breath. “Always gonna be here.”

 

 

Over half a decade later, they both go down in a plane after fighting for years in the war and finally killing the leader of Hydra; wind whistling in against their faces through a hole in the glass as the plane speeds towards the ice land beneath them.

And, Bucky thinks as they go down, holding on to each other so tightly, whispering words of comfort as they plummet towards their end, that _yeah, we lived up to that word._

They’re here, together, at the end of the line. By each other’s sides.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve and bucky find themselves waking up in the future. just as they're getting used to their new life, things take a not so great turn.

**70 Years Later**

 

 

So, it wasn’t the end of the line.

They have a new life now. In a new world. In the _future_.

Maybe the future thing wasn’t just a joke after all.

 

Howard Stark, as it turns out, had a kid.

Tony Stark becomes a friend of Steve and Bucky pretty early on in their new life this new world. It’s strange: in some ways he’s completely different to Howard, but in others, he’s exactly the same.

He has a girlfriend named Pepper, who is kind and confident and everything wonderful.

And he has other friends, too. Turns out that in this world, Steve isn’t the only “enhanced individual”. There’s an entire group of them, alternating between living in Stark’s tower in the middle of New York City (which, Steve hasn’t admitted to anyone but Bucky, he thinks is very ugly) and a compound on the outskirts built for purpose. It’s all very modern and expensive and there are technologies that Steve and Bucky couldn’t even have _imagined_ back in their day.

The very interesting group of friends Tony has are called the Avengers. Or, at least, that’s what they called themselves, and the rest of the world adopted that name too. Steve likes it. Bucky smirks when he hears the name and says ‘it’s catchy, if nothing else.’

They get given an apartment each in the Tower and a shared one at the compound, and they’re pretty sure Stark and his friends – the _Avengers_ – want both Steve and Bucky to join their superhero group. No one has officially asked them outright, not in so many words, but it’s been brought up in conversation.

“I think I still need a little time to adjust,” Steve admits to Bucky in to the darkness of his bedroom one night after spending the evening having drinks with the group. They’re at the compound, but of course Bucky is in what is supposedly “Steve’s room”. Let’s face it: there’s always going to be one apartment or one room empty.

“Me, too,” Bucky says, voice quiet against the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve presses further back against Bucky and holds tightly to his hand. “Are you alright? It’s—it’s kinda overwhelming, huh?”

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky holds him tighter. “But I’m doing okay. Just glad I got you.”

“Same here.”

“You alright, babydoll?”

“I’m okay. Couldn’t do it without you, though.”

“I’m right here.”

“I know.”

“So, what d’you think of them?”

“Hm?”

“These people we now apparently live with. What d’you think of them?”

“They’re nice. Easy to get along with, and we have some stuff in common. Which is weird, considering the circumstances.”

Bucky chuckles, and Steve feels it against the nape of his neck. “Yeah. I like them, too. I…think we’ll be okay here, y’know.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah.”

Steve sighs. “It’s just…I don’t know. The only word I can think of is ‘weird’, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the magnitude of this.”

He laughs softly again. “You got that right.”

Steve rolls over to face Bucky and reaches out to brush a hand down his cheek. It’s so strange. He’s here, in the future, almost seventy years after the war, and Bucky’s here with him. The only thing here from their past is him. And he’s still here, being so authentically Bucky, looking just like himself. His Bucky.

“I love you,” Steve whispers.

“I love you too, babydoll.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. Couldn’t survive this without you.”

Bucky leans in and presses a soft kiss against Steve’s lips. “You’re strong. Stronger than you know. You’d get through it.”

“Maybe I’d get through it,” Steve nuzzles their noses together, “but I don’t think I’d come out the other side with my heart in one piece.”

“Rogers, you are _so_ dramatic.” Bucky’s smirking, his eyes sparkling as he looks in to Steve’s, with both amusement and love.

Steve chuckles. “I know.”

“So, hey, do you think here in the future, the world is a less shitty place, just like we always dreamed?”

Smiling, Steve runs his fingers through the hair at the back of Bucky’s head. “I hope so, Buck,” he whispers. “I hope so.”

* * *

Bucky’s not shy; he never has been. Neither is Steve, but Bucky was always the more social of the two. He was the one who went out dancing, who went out to parties and brought Steve along with him. Although neither of them were ever shy, there was always more of a confidence and ease about Bucky in social situations. He was charming and smooth, and it was always yet another area where he thrived.

And now, here in the future, to anyone else, Bucky probably seems just as charming and at ease as ever. But Steve has never seen that lost look in his eyes before; has never seen him look tentative to talk to people. His eyes scan the room and look for Steve every thirty seconds, and Steve always meets his gaze and tries for a reassuring smile.

Steve gets it. He understands why this is different than the parties they went to back in their day. This is all so _new_. The music is new, the technology is new, the people are new. Hell, even the way the place is _decorated_ is new. Everything’s all smooth and glass and brightly but simply coloured. The people here all know each other; have known each other for years. It’s no wonder Bucky is feeling a little out of place.

Steve feels it, too.

But these people are nice. They’re _good_. They’ve accepted Steve and Bucky in to their lives with no questions asked, and are trying to get to know them. They’re trying to make this feel like home.

Steve wants nothing more than to stand by Bucky’s side all evening and hold his hand or wrap arms around him. Not that they could, anyway; not in public. But they also need to get used to this new life.

It is, however, easier said than done.

“So how long have you and Barnes known each other?” Natasha asks, peering at Steve through long eyelashes over the brim of her wine glass. They’re leaning against the bar, both with drinks in hand.

Steve chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “You want that in literal terms? Several decades.”

Natasha smirks. “A while, then.”

“You could say that,” he smiles, then exhales. “We met when we were kids. Little kids. I’m talking six, seven. And I guess after that, we were never really apart.”

Nat smiles, like she knows something she shouldn’t – but she often smiles like that, so it might not mean anything – and nods. “You were inseparable. That’s what the museums say.”

“The museums?”

“Yeah. There are museums dedicated to you, you know.”

Steve sighs. “Tony told me that. I just…still can’t believe it. I’m just… _me_.”

“Well, according to the history books, you saved over a thousand men.” Natasha is still smiling in that way, but it’s a little softer now, and there’s a hint of admiration in her eyes.

Steve likes her. She’s guarded and hard to read, but somehow she’s real and easy to talk to.

He looks across the room at Bucky and tries to make it as little like a longing stare as possible. “It wasn’t just me.”

Natasha follows his gaze and her smile broadens briefly. “You’re both too modest for your own good.”

Steve chuckles. “He was always cocky in every other aspect of life. But never the fact that he saved people.”

She shrugs one shoulder. Takes a sip of wine. “He says the same about you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “He been talking about me behind my back?”

“I’m not one to tell other people’s secrets.”

She’s smirking again, and Steve smirks in return, letting out a little chuckle. Tony comes over, then, and Bucky’s on his way back from talking to Clint on the sofas. The four of them talk for a while, and it’s good, it’s _nice_ ; they get along perfectly well.

But it doesn’t take away from the fact that this place is still so new, so strange, and it’s going to take a while to feel even remotely like they belong here.

But, Steve thinks, as long as they’re here together, they’ll always be at home.

* * *

“What smells so good?” Bucky asks, padding in to the small kitchen in their apartment at the compound. He’s just woken up from an afternoon nap, and his hair is all tousled, clothes wrinkled and movements sleepy.

Steve smiles. “Microwave popcorn!” He says excitedly. “You can literally get bags of the stuff, shove it in this microwave, and it just pops it all for you in two minutes. And it's flavoured already, and everything.”

“Shit. I love the future.”

Laughing, Steve takes the paper bag out of the microwave and the smell is _incredible_. “Want some?”

“Hell yeah.”

“When Sam mentioned movie night tomorrow, he also mentioned microwave popcorn. I was so interested Tony had someone go out and buy us all this.”

Bucky smiles, picking up a kernel from the bowl as Steve pours the contents in to it. “You know, that Tony guy comes across as a complete asshole, but he’s actually pretty cool. I mean, who else would send someone straight out to get us _microwave popcorn_?”

“Right? Oh, man, this stuff is _good_.”

Bucky sighs contentedly after shoving another handful in his mouth. “ _So_ good.”

“D’you wanna watch another movie on the list?”

“Sure. Hopefully it'll be better than the one we watched the other day.”

“What was that? Your mouth was way too full of popcorn for me to—”

A piece of popcorn hits Steve on the nose and he laughs. “Hey!”

“I said, _sure_. And you totally heard it. And I was gonna say that it’s your pick of what we watch but now you’re just being _sassy_.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Seriously?” Steve is grinning. “How old are you, five?”

“I’m _ninety_ -five, actually,”

“You’re such an old man.” Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist. Bucky does so in return, almost absentmindedly.

“So are you, punk.”

Steve leans in, presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s forehead. He wraps his other arm around Bucky, and then they’re just holding each other, foreheads pressed together, popcorn not entirely forgotten but put aside for the time being.

Bucky nuzzles his nose against Steve’s. “Love you, babydoll.”

* * *

It’s when Steve is at the tower for a weekend that things really take a turn he hadn’t expected.

He’s sitting in the lounge on one of the higher floors with Sam—he’s bonded the most the fastest with Sam; they just seem to _click_ , and Sam seems to understand Steve and what he’s going through. They’re drinking their third coffee of the afternoon and talking when they hear music start outside and the sounds of voices. It must be loud down there, because they’re pretty high up but the sounds are still clear.

Steve looks out and his eyes are immediately filled with rainbows. There are thousands of people walking down the street in a big, long group, waving rainbow flags, holding big, bright banners, wearing bright and colourful clothes. They’re all smiling and singing and they look so happy; it makes Steve’s heart warm even though he has no idea what the heck is going on. He’s seen protests before, but this is isn't that. This is…happy. Joyful. This is a celebration. This is a _parade_.

“What’s happening out there?” He asks, walking across to the window to stare some more.

Sam follows him over. “Oh, yeah, it’s the Pride march today. I’ve been meaning to go to one. Just been too busy, y’know?”

Steve frowns and glances over at Sam confusedly, but he’s still staring down at the parade. Steve turns back to the window. His gaze locks on to a flag with the biggest writing, and the it says, _‘I love my dads! Love is love!’_

Steve’s frown deepens as he lets those words and their potential meaning settle in to his brain. Could this be…?

He doesn’t want to hope. Doesn’t want to be let down.

He looks back at Sam, and Sam finally looks at him in return.

“What’s Pride?” Steve asks, and this never feels any less weird; being a grown man and having to ask another grown human being what something is—something that’s clearly the norm these days, or at least something well known.

Sam looks confused for a moment, but then realisation dawns on his face, his expression softening. There’s a moment of silence where Sam just looks at Steve, glancing between each of his eyes, and Steve wonders what’s going through his head.

“Come here, I gotta show you something.”

And that’s when Sam takes Steve over to the computer, types something in to Google (because that’s a thing now; a _very cool thing_ ), and Steve learns about it. About Pride, and the LGBT+ community. Not only are there more than two recognised sexualities, there are more than two recognised genders, more than two _everything_. There are communities where people like he and Bucky are not only accepted, but loved and encouraged to be who they are without apology; without shame.

After a bit of reading, Steve thinks that, if he were to apply a label to himself, he would call himself bisexual. Or maybe pansexual; he’s not sure which, quite yet. Maybe both. But the thing is: it’s okay that he doesn’t know.

And, most importantly, _it’s legal for him to marry a man._

Not in every state, but in _some states_. This is mind-blowing. This is _insane_.

“Hey, you okay, man?” Sam asks, clapping him on the shoulder and watching as Steve just stares at the computer screen in complete and utter awe.

“Yeah, I—I’m fine,” he says, and it’s not a lie – he’s _amazing_ , he’s on cloud nine right now – but his hands are shaking and his heart is racing.

“Are you sure? You look a little…freaked out.” Sam seems genuinely concerned. Steve tries to shake himself out of it; tries to keep it inside, the fact that this is what he’s been waiting for his whole damn life. Ever since the first moment he met Bucky as a little kid, this is everything he’s ever wanted. _Everything_. It’s happening, and it’s real, and he can’t quite catch his breath.

_He can marry the man he loves now._

“Hey, man, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” and his voice cracks a little, no matter how much he tries to stop it. There are tears in his eyes. His heart is beating out of his chest.

_He can marry Bucky. He can walk down the street and hold his hand._

_And Sam is okay with it. Sam said—he said he wanted to go to a Pride march. Does this mean he can…? Tell someone?_

“Sam, I…,” he wants to tell him, wants to tell him so badly. Wants to say, _I am in love with Bucky Barnes._ But that’s not fair on Bucky. He hasn’t asked permission. Bucky still doesn’t _know_ any of this, and even if he does, he might not be ready to tell someone. Steve knows that he himself wouldn’t be ready to tell the rest of their friends. Only Sam. So he can’t tell Sam about Bucky. But he can say…, “I—I can’t—I don’t know if I’m using the right label, or whatever, but I’m—I’m bisexual,” the word is just a whisper, barely making it off his tongue, but he’s just said it out loud, and suddenly everything _fits_. He feels more himself in this moment than he’s ever felt any time he’s not with Bucky. “I’m bisexual.” He says again, more clarity in his voice this time.

Sam doesn’t say anything. Steve realises he’s crying as he waits for Sam to speak.

Nervously, he looks up to gage Sam’s reaction.

To his relief, there’s a small smile on Sam’s face, and something like pride in his eyes. Sam puts his hand on Steve’s back, and his smile widens, and Steve feels more tears spill from his eyes.

“Feels good to say it, doesn’t it?”

“I—yeah,” Steve laughs, breathy and relieved. “I’ve—I didn’t even know—I can’t—”

“It’s okay,” Sam chuckles softly, “it’s a lot to take in. I can’t know how you feel, not really; I was never around during that time, when people were so… _vile_ about it everywhere you went. But I faced the homophobia. When I came out, too.”

“You’re—?”

“I’m bi, like you,” Sam says, and Steve wants to cry even harder because he’s _not the only one_. “And there were people in my life who didn’t approve. But it’s who I am. And I—I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like for you. It’s okay if you don’t know what to say.”

“I—I have to…,” _I have to tell Bucky_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t want to give anything away. “I have to go home. I mean—back to the compound.”

“Alright. I’m heading back there in a few hours, if you wanted company. If not, I get it.”

“No,” Steve says too quickly, “no, I—I’d love to go with you. If you don’t mind.” _Because I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop my hands shaking enough to handle myself_.

“Of course,” and then, his eyes soft, “and hey, listen, I’m really proud of you, man. That took some guts, for you to tell me. Thank you for trusting me.”

Steve sniffs, more tears stinging his eyes. “I do trust you,” he says. “Can you…uh. I’m not…ready yet. To tell other people. Can you—?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word. It’s your thing to tell, not mine.”

Steve exhales, filled with so much relief it’s almost exhausting. “Thank you, Sam. I can’t—thank you.”

Sam’s smile is supportive and encouraging, and Steve wants to hug him. So he does.

Steve has never really had a close friend apart from Bucky. And he’s only known Sam a few weeks, but Steve has a funny feeling he’d trust him with his life. And he kind of is, by trusting him with the secret of who he is.

 

 

The news hits Bucky like it hit Steve. There’s shaking, and crying, and not quite believing it. His eyes are filled with tears but also hope, joy, relief. He’s still saying he doesn’t believe it, so Steve shows him the websites he and Sam looked at; all the online communities and people’s stories.

There’s one story of two guys who met as children and fell in love as the years went on. By the time they were eighteen, they were engaged. Married by twenty. And now they have two kids and a dog and a house in the suburbs, and Steve looks over at Bucky to find him pointing limply at the screen, awe written all over his face.

“That’s…that’s just like us,” he whispers, almost to himself. “We fell in love as kids, just like them. Steve…the future…,”

Steve grins tearfully, reaching out to cup Bucky’s face and wipe away his tears. “The future is ours, Buck,” he says softly. “It’s ours.”

* * *

It’s movie night with The Team.

Bucky and Steve are starting to feel like a part of The Team, even though they’re not officially, because they’re still taking a break from fighting. Sometimes Steve wonders why Tony took them in; why all of these people are accepting them as part of their little family when they’re not even doing anything to help. Tony has said before that the team needs them to help fight—not in so many words, but. Details. But above all, Steve knows that the reason Tony has taken them in, is because he’s _Tony_. He comes across like a cocky asshole. But he’s not actually one.

“You still up for movie night?” Bucky asks as Steve sits beside Bucky on the couch, quickly pecking his forehead.

“Yeah. You?”

“Mhmm.”

“Apparently the guys wanna educate us in Star Wars. It’s on our list.”

“I’ve seen a couple posters. I’m a fan of Luke already.”

“You just like guys with nice hair, Buck.”

Bucky looks up from his book and reaches up to run a hand through Steve’s hair. He smiles softly. “Yeah. I do.”

Steve searches Bucky’s eyes, taking in the slight shake of his hand and the look on his face that he’s trying to conceal. He’s having an anxious day today; Steve can just tell. This happens sometimes; to both of them. Sometimes it’s because of the war. Sometimes it’s because of the changes they’ve had to face. Sometimes it just… _is_.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Bucky nods, blinking slowly, and brings his hand down to cup Steve’s cheek. “I’m okay. Are you?”

Steve nods. He presses their lips together, and then Bucky’s lying down with Steve on top of him, and they’re kind of almost late for movie night.

 

When they get to the living room, the rest of the Team are there already, finding places to sit and settling with bowls of popcorn between them. There’s a large space at the end of one of the couches that has clearly been left free for Steve and Bucky to sit together.

“What episode are we starting with?” Sam asks, throwing some popcorn in his mouth.

“Four.”

“Wait, what?” Steve asks, confused. “Why would we start halfway through the saga?”

Sam chuckles. “The first three came out in the seventies. Then the prequels happened ten or so years ago. So what used to be episode one is episode four.”

“Right, but why are we not starting with the prequels?”

“Because the best way to watch is the original trilogy, then the prequels.” Tony says, making himself comfortable in an armchair.

“I don’t agree, but I was outnumbered on the vote, so.” Clint adds through a mouthful of chips.

“You guys had a vote?” Bucky smirks.

“That’s just how we roll. We live as a democracy,” Sam comes back from the kitchen with a crate of drinks. “Beer, cider, and some non-alcoholic cans of drink too. Help yourselves.”

Bucky leans forward and picks up a can of beer and some cider for Steve.

“Please, don’t give him more than one of those,” Steve says, “Buck has always pretended he can hold his drinks but, oh boy, he is the biggest lightweight you’ll ever meet.”

Bucky gasps, feigning offence, “I resent that lie.”

“I don’t lie. You know that.”

“I always trust Cap.” Tony says, smirking that usual shit-eating smirk.

Bucky pops open the lid on his can. Some beer fizzes over the edge and he slips his tongue out quickly to lick it away. Steve is incredibly distracted by it.

“I can _so_ hold my drink.”

“Bullshit. Just wait ’til he gets a second drink and you’ll see what I mean.”

“We could place bets, but I really just want to get on with the fucking movie.” Tony gestures to the TV and it turns on, and Steve and Bucky still can’t get over their fascination with this place’s technology.

“Alright. Strap yourselves in for your first trip to a galaxy far, far away.” Sam says, smiling as he settles back in to the couch beside Steve.

“You really like Star Wars, don’t you?” Steve asks, amusement in his voice.

“Man, I _love_ Star Wars.”

Chuckling, Steve turns back to the screen and resists the urge to put his arm over Bucky’s shoulders or hold his hand. Now that he knows it’s kind of okay to be like they are, he’s been feeling more and more like crossing that line. But at the same time, he’s still _scared_. It feels weird to be in front of other people and even be _thinking_ about showing Bucky affection. Is he even ready for that? Is Bucky ready?

They’ve talked about it, of course. But they need to keep talking until they decide whether or not they’re ready.

So, for now, they just sit and enjoy the movie, their brushing knees enough contact for now.

It’s 11pm by the time the movie finishes, and Clint has fallen asleep sideways in an armchair. Steve stretches as the lights turn back on just by Tony tapping something on his phone, and looks over to Bucky to see him surrounded by four cans of beer.

“Wait, Buck, how many beers have you had!?”

“Four.”

“And you’re not… _drunk_?”

Bucky shrugs. “I feel fine.”

Tony gasps over-dramatically, “Cap _lied_.”

“I did not lie!”

Bucky grins. “Told you I can handle my drink.”

“The ice must have made that happen. Back before the war I distinctly remember having to practically carry you home after you had barely two glasses of cheap wine.”

“That was then, and this is now. I’m a new man.”

“Shut _up_.” Steve rolls his eyes, fondly, and has to sit on his hand to stop himself from reaching out to run it through Bucky’s hair.

“Alright, help me clear all this mess up. I may have cleaners but I don’t wanna wake up in the morning to this crap all over the living room.” Tony gestures to the room and takes the empty bowl of popcorn from Clint’s lap. It wakes him up, and he blinks, squinting in the brighter lights.

Steve stands up and clears away his cider cans and his and Bucky’s bowl of popcorn. Bucky follows him to the kitchen with his empty beer cans and throws them in to the recycling when Steve holds open the lid for him.

“Seriously, though,” Steve says when it’s just the two of them. “How come you’re not drunk off your ass?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re right; I’ve never been able to hold drinks well.” He admits, albeit reluctantly.

“Maybe it’s a future thing.”

Bucky smiles. “Maybe.”

* * *

“I kind of want to tell them,” Steve says. They’re sitting up in bed, Steve against the headboard with Bucky between his legs, back pressed to his chest with a book in his hands. Steve’s arms are around Bucky’s waist, his head leaning back against the headboard.

Slowly, Bucky puts his book down on the bed beside them and places his hands over Steve’s where they sit on his stomach. He leans his head back in to Steve’s shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Steve reassures him quickly. “I don’t want to pressure you to tell anyone about us. But I just…now that I know we _can_ …,”

“Does it not terrify you?” Bucky asks. “The idea of being _together_ in front of other people? The thought of walking down the street hand-in-hand?”

Steve thinks it over for a moment. He tightens his hold on Bucky and sighs, long and slow. “A little,” he admits, eventually. “I mean, before now we’ve just had decades of having to keep it a secret. It was either that, or jail. So I—I think it’ll take me a while to be able to be truly open about it in front of other people.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Me, too.” There’s a moment of silence. Steve lightly presses his nose in to the back of Bucky’s neck. “Are…are they okay with it? Like…our…friends. Are they okay with people…like us?”

Steve nods softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the spot just behind his ear. “Yeah, Buck. They are.”

“I know Sam is…,”

“Yeah. They all are.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, and Steve feels the rise and fall of his chest as he does so. “Maybe we could tell them,” he says. “I…trust them. I think.”

Steve kisses his skin again. “I do, too.”

Bucky slowly disentangles himself from Steve’s arms and turns around, kneeling down in front of Steve, bringing his hand up to cup his face. “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this.”

Softly, Steve smiles. “I know. It’s crazy, huh?”

He nods. “It’s crazy.”

“And, listen, Buck; we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We can do all of this in our own time.”

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Bucky’s soft smile turns in to a little teasing smirk, and he runs his hand back over Steve’s hair. “So,” he says. “About that house you wanted, with the little picket fence…kids…a dog…,”

Steve chuckles, kissing the inside of Bucky’s arm. “Yeah?”

“I think we might be one step closer to getting there.”

“Yeah, Buck. I think we might.”

“Hey, how about we take a trip to that museum?”

Steve strokes his hand through Bucky’s hair, twirling his fingers around locks of it, and frowns curiously. “What museum?”

“The one in DC. The one about you.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’ll be funny.”

“Don’t you think people will recognise me?”

“Nah,” Bucky smirks, stroking his thumb across the wrinkles in Steve’s forehead. “You’re far too old now.”

Steve laughs. “You’re one year older than me, Buck. You’re the old man here.”

“We can go undercover.”

“Undercover? You mean, like, dark sunglasses and black leather jackets?”

“No, under cover like…just dress up normally. Wear a hat. We’ll be good.”

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “Won’t you get sad? Seeing all these pieces…pieces of our old life?”

Bucky thinks about it for a moment, then sighs softly. “Maybe,” he says. “But I just…have this random urge to go. I don’t know.”

“We can, if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe in a few weeks, though? I wanna get used to things a little more, first.”

Bucky nods and leans in to quickly peck Steve on the lips. “Of course,” he says. “So, when shall we tell the Team?”

A small smile twitches at Steve’s lips. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

Bucky nods, his gaze serious and sincere. “Yeah. If you are.”

* * *

“ _Finally_ ,” Tony says enthusiastically, “it’s about time you guys said something!”

“Tony,” Sam scolds, “a little sensitivity, maybe?”

“Sorry. But you guys know we figured it out, right?”

“You _did_?” Bucky asks, sounding shocked.

Steve chuckles along with everyone else, looking up at Bucky to find a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, duh,” Nat smirks, “you practically make love with your eyes across the room all the goddamn time.”

“Okay, that’s a little overdramatic,” Steve scoffs.

“No, it’s not. Even I have to admit it.” Clint pipes up from where he’s holding an ice pack to his head. They had a mission yesterday and Clint has been complaining for the last hour that the gash on his forehead is still throbbing.

“You’re honestly like a couple of lovesick teenagers.” Tony says.

“We’ve never even _held hands_ in front of you.” Bucky counters.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Alright, do you guys have some kind of radar for sensing romance, or…?” Steve smirks, sitting down on the spare armchair. Bucky sits on the arm of it and takes hold of Steve’s hand, their palms both sweaty.

“A romance radar,” Tony smirks, “yeah, that’s not a thing.”

“But…we’re _good_ at hiding it,” Bucky sounds genuinely confused, “we—we hid it for a really long time. How—what if people—back in our day—what if they _knew_?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve soothes, his tone soft, forgetting for a moment that they’re in a room full of people. “No one knew, Buck. No one knew.”

“No, you actually are very good at hiding it,” Nat says, that smirk still on her face, “we are just a very…perceptive group of people.”

“Because you’re a spy?” Bucky says, and the humour is back in his voice.

“Alright, alright, enough teasing us,” Steve chuckles lightly. He clears his throat, and then his tone is more serious, voice shaking a little. “In all seriousness, are you…are you guys okay…with this? You know, me and Buck…?”

Natasha scoffs. “Of _course_ we are.”

“Yeah, man,” Sam smiles at Steve, and Steve smiles right back. “We support you for who you are. Love is love, and all that.”

Steve feels like he could cry. He has a feeling Bucky might feel the same.

“Thank you,” Steve and Bucky say at the same time.

The group smile at them for a long moment, and then they give out hugs and words of encouragement, and they all sit back down again and fall in to easy conversation. Bucky is still sitting on the arm of Steve’s armchair, now with his arm over Steve’s shoulders and they're holding hands. And it’s all so natural and surreal, like nothing has changed, like their friends still see them in exactly the same way as before.

They’re not quite sure yet if any of this feels real.

* * *

“Tony, you really didn’t have to do all this,” Steve says in to his phone as he loads the rest of their bags in to the back of the car.

“Consider it a coming-out gift,” Tony says, sounding triumphant.

Steve laughs. “That was three weeks ago, Tony.”

“A late coming-out gift, then.”

“Is that a thing? Coming-out gifts?” Steve gets in to the drivers seat and smiles softly at Bucky as he climbs in the passenger side.

“To me it is. Anyway, I gotta run; have a great time, don’t mess up my couch, and we’ll miss you.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says genuinely.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it. Later, Cap.”

“Bye.”

Steve hangs up and hands his phone to Bucky who puts it in the phone charging station in this crazy car. Tony had initially tried to get them a _driver_ to escort them to and from airports. But Steve insisted that the private jet and apartment in LA were more than enough.

“I swear, that guy is _richer_ than his father,” Steve shakes his head.

Bucky chuckles. “I can’t believe we’re about to go on a private jet. Like, a _fancy_ private jet.”

“I feel like we’re exploiting him.”

“Oh, please. He acts like he doesn’t care but all that man wants to do is make people happy.”

Steve starts the engine and pulls out of the garage on to the busy street. The drive takes a while, as expected; New York traffic has only gotten worse since they were young.

They get escorted to the jet through a private hallway and a tube connected to the plane. There are five seats in the cabin, all leather and plush. Each armrest has cup-holders and a fancy little screen that controls the TVs, the speakers and the temperature of the cabin. They sit opposite each other and tangle their feet together before Bucky promptly gets comfortable by the window, gazing out at the view as they speed off down the runway and then lift off in to the sky.

He looks so pretty. His hair has gotten a little longer since they came out of the ice; he says he’s going to try growing it out and see if it suits him. Right now it’s short enough for him to keep it off his face by running his hands through it every now and again, but it’s long enough for Steve to really get his fingers tangled in it.

He has a little bit of stubble now, too, and the light coming through the small airplane window shines through his hair and across his skin and he just looks _gorgeous_.

Steve doesn’t even notice when Bucky turns his head to look at him and a smirk crosses his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve smiles, shaking his head just a little. “I just love you.”

“Sap,” Bucky says, but he’s smiling.

“What, no _I love you too_?”

He chuckles. “I love you too, needy.”

“Hey!” Steve laughs.

“What d’ya say we look and see what movies we can watch?”

“Sure. Just come and sit by me so I can hold ya.”

“Oh my God, has coming out to the Team made you even _more_ sappy?”

“Maybe.”

Laughing softly, Bucky moves to the seat beside Steve and pushes back the the armrest so he can put his head on his shoulder. They choose a movie called _27 Dresses_ and it’s ten minutes in and Steve is already obsessed. He’s found he really likes “chick-flicks”. They’re just predictable and cheesy and fun, and easy to watch.

Bucky makes fun of him for it just a little, but he enjoys them too.

By the time the credits are rolling, Bucky is half asleep; travelling has always made him sleepy.

“You can fall asleep, Buck,” Steve says softly. “The movie’s over now.”

“Mm,” Bucky murmurs, finally giving in and letting his eyes close. Steve clicks in on another movie, turns the volume down a little, closes the blinds on the windows around them and then takes hold of Bucky’s hand.

“I’ll wake you up before we start descending.”

“Mkay.”

Bucky wakes up on his own as they start to descend. The pressure probably made his ears pop.

“We there?” He asks sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

“Almost. Ten minutes until we land.” Steve looks down at him. Even though he’s just been asleep, his face is paler than usual; not the kind of sleep-flushed he usually is after a nap. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Bit light headed. Might just be because we’re going down quite fast.”

Steve brings his hand to Bucky’s forehead, but it doesn’t feel overly hot. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry.”

“I’m very good at worrying.”

“I know,” Bucky says, pressing his nose in to Steve’s neck. “Stop it.”

 

He doesn’t stop worrying. That’s fairly standard.

But his worry-level goes up by a mile when the plane lands and, as they’re walking towards the door, Bucky’s knees buckle a little and he has to hold on to one of the seats. Steve can’t remember a time Bucky has ever almost crumbled to the floor in his whole _life_ ; maybe just after Hydra captured him, but even _then_ , he hasn’t had to hold his head low so the blood will get back to it.

Steve runs over and catches him, a frown deep between his brow. “Buck?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he waves him away, “I’m fine, Steve. Just got up too quickly,” he slowly lifts his head, turns to Steve and gives him a smile. Steve wonders if Bucky knows he can see through the fakeness of it. “Don’t worry.”

Tony’s got a hire car organised for them at the airport, and Steve drives them through the city to the apartment. It’s a pretty high-end place, as expected, but it’s not over the top. They have to keep a pretty low-profile, because what they really _don’t_ need is people recognising them as Captain America and Sergeant Barnes, back from the dead; paparazzi would love a candid photograph or two of the two of them walking around LA or in to an expensive apartment block. Steve knows, from plenty of experience being in the public eye, that even a simple photo can spiral in to a million different rumours and news stories being sold. This is supposed to be a low-key trip, not a media storm.

So they’re wearing caps and sunglasses and mundane, everyday hoodies and jeans. As they walk in to the building through the back door, Steve finds himself smirking at Bucky because he just makes this combination of a cap and the overly expensive sunglasses Tony bought for them look _gorgeous_.

“Well, this is home for the next few days.” Steve says with a contented but tired sigh, lowering their suitcases to the floor by the door. He’d insisted on carrying their bags after Bucky’s weird turn getting off the plane.

“You really didn’t have to carry those,” Bucky says, smiling and stepping beside Steve to wrap him in his arms. “I’m stronger now than I was when we were young, you know.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhmm.”

Steve smirks teasingly. “Okay, tough guy.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky scoffs. “You don’t even try to deny it.”

Steve’s grin is cheeky and beautiful. “Nope.” He leans in and kisses him once, long and soft, their lips closed against each other’s.

Bucky smiles as he pulls away, running his hand over the back of Steve’s neck. “You hungry, soldier?”

“I’m _famished_.”

Playfully, Bucky rolls his eyes as he takes Steve’s hand and leads him towards the kitchen at the other end of the room. “You’re so dramatic. You only ate, like, an hour ago.”

“More like an hour and ten minutes,” Steve corrects, “and I can’t help it. I have a fast metabolism.”

“So what’s my excuse? I’m hungry, too, and I ate like sixteen packets of peanuts on that flight.”

Steve shrugs, looking in the fridge to find it fully stocked with food. “You’re just weird, I guess.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome, babydoll. Okay, what d’ya want to eat? It’s about six-ish, but I guess our bodies are on a different time schedule. So…this is dinner? Supper? A midnight snack?”

Bucky chuckles, reaching past Steve to grab some eggs. “I propose eggs, bacon and toast.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The eggs take two attempts to cook because it’s an electric stove, and they’re not used to how long it takes to heat up and change temperature. The first batch end up burned in places and uncooked in others, and it goes straight in the trash.

By the time they’ve finally worked out the stove and got everything cooked, it’s a half hour later, and they take it out on to the balcony to eat.

The city is bustling underneath them, but from here it feels strangely calming. There are long queues of cars and people dashing through the streets, and the whole place is beautiful and alive.

They don’t speak much while they eat; mostly just enjoy the view and take in their surroundings. They’ve got their sunglasses on in the hopes that anyone who sees them from the apartments across the street won’t recognise them enough to cause a scene. It’s a little strange, knowing that anyone can take a picture at any time and instantly send it somewhere like the internet or to a news broadcaster. Things weren’t this instant back in the old days.

“So, tonight. Do you wanna go out somewhere, or shall we just stay here and settle in a little?” Steve asks, finishing up the last of his eggs.

Bucky sits back in his chair, running a hand through his growing hair and looking out across the city. Steve can see buildings reflected in the lenses. “I feel more like staying in, if that’s okay?”

“I was thinking the same,” Steve smiles. “We could take a bath, maybe watch a movie.”

“Perfect. Bath now?”

“Keen, are we?” Steve grins, picking up their plates and walking back inside through the sliding glass doors. He hears Bucky’s footsteps following behind.

“ _Very_ keen.”

Chuckling, Steve pecks Bucky on the forehead before loading the plates in the dishwasher. ( _Dishwashers_. Honestly, this might be the best thing to come out of the future. Except same-sex marriage, obviously). “You feeling okay now? After earlier?”

“Yeah, a lot better.”

Steve dusts off his hands and looks up at Bucky, reaching up to cup his face. “You’ve definitely got more colour in your cheeks.”

“Nothin’ like a good hot meal.”

“Damn right,” he chuckles. “Alright. Bath?”

“ _Bath_.”

 

They take a bath together, of course, Bucky leaning back against Steve’s chest, Steve’s arms around his waist. Bucky traces patterns against Steve’s arms, bubbles trailing faintly across his skin.

Steve is pressing lazy kisses along Bucky’s shoulder. “This is so nice,” he murmurs.

“It’s amazing.”

“We should do this more often.”

Bucky tips his head back against Steve’s shoulder and sighs, eyes drifting closed as Steve mouths at his neck. “Hell yeah.” And then, a little softer, his eyes still closed, “Stevie?”

“Mm?” Steve nuzzles his ear.

“I love being here,” he says quietly, so genuine and meaningful, “in the future. With you. I—I miss our old life, sometimes, but I…I feel like this is the new beginning we always wanted.”

Softly, Steve smiles, letting out a little laugh through his nose. “I love it too, Buck. Love you.”

“Mm,” he hums contentedly, lacing his fingers through Steve’s.

And they stay like that for over an hour, adding hot water again when the bath starts getting a little tepid. They’re so close and so warm and it’s just the two of them, and this is how they’ve always been happiest. The two of them, together, so close like this.

When they get out, Bucky pulls the plug after Steve climbs out before following him. And it’s all fine and blissful until Bucky crouches down to pick up a hairbrush, stands back up again, and suddenly he’s falling to the floor, his body making a dramatic crash as his feet flail against the cabinet.

Steve turns and runs to him in an instant, but Bucky’s already on the ground and passed out by the time he has hold of him.

“Bucky!” He shouts, holding his shoulders, reaching up to feel his pulse, just in case. It’s still there and it’s still strong, and that gives Steve just a tiny little bit more peace; enough that his first aid training comes in to action fully and his brain is working at a million miles a minute. The best thing for a faint case is to get the blood back to the brain, he remembers, grabbing a huge stack of towels and putting them under Bucky’s knees. He keeps one hand on his pulse as much as he can, and grabs a cup of water quickly before realising that he’s barely even breathing himself. He takes a deep breath. (It doesn’t help).

 _Bucky just fainted. Oh, God, Bucky just fucking_ fainted _. He is never sick, it was always Steve—Bucky was fine just five minutes ago, what the hell happened, and what the hell is Steve going to do?_

“Bucky!” He says again, hoping it’ll help but kind of knowing it won’t make a difference—“Bucky! Can you hear me?”

They’re out here in LA, too many miles from home, and there’s no way Bucky will go to a hospital. Ever since being captured by Hydra, Bucky hasn’t been able to go near a hospital bed or table or anything similar, really. In the war, it was always Steve who would patch him up after a fight; no doctors, no med tents, nothing. Anything to do with being tested or examined, it made Bucky panic like nothing else.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, breathlessly, hope in his voice, as Bucky’s eyelashes begin to flutter. “Bucky, are you there? Can you hear me?”

“S—Steve?” he slurs out, so weak and confused.

“Hey, Buck, it’s me,”

“Wha’ happ’ned?”

“You fainted,” Steve can barely breathe—he’s so relieved Bucky’s awake but he’s also _terrified_. “You fainted, Buck. Did you feel light-headed?”

“I—yeah, I think so,”

“Bucky, I—what’s going on? First you felt dizzy earlier, and now this—this isn’t like you, Buck, please tell me what’s going on—”

Bucky closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he admits after a few moments.

“You don’t—what?”

“I don’t know why this has been happening.”

“ _Been_? This is something that’s been going on?”

“Yeah, I—” He tries to sit up but Steve gently pushes him straight back down again. “I…didn’t want to worry you. And I…didn’t want to…I didn’t want to have to see a…a doctor,”

Steve sighs, “Buck, you have to tell me when something like this is going on,” he says, knowing this definitely isn’t the time to be getting mad at Bucky, but honestly he’s kinda _mad at Bucky_. “You can’t just—we were on a flight today! We travelled to the other side of the country and you—you’ve been _unwell_? And I didn’t even know? God, I should’ve noticed, I…,”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you are _not_ blaming yourself for this.”

Steve presses his palm in to his eye and shakes his head. “I’m not, I just— _Bucky_. I love you. You can’t just—keep secrets like this. Not when your safety is at stake. What if you hit your head when you fell? Then I’d have had no _choice_ but to take you—”

“No, Steve, I can’t—I can’t go—I _won’t_ —I _can’t_ —”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Steve tries to sooth, smoothing his hand softly over Bucky’s hair. “It’s okay.”

“Are you—are you going to—to take me there? To the hospital, for them to—look at me—” His hands are already trembling.

Steve shakes his head, leaning down so he’s lying next to Bucky, propped up on his elbow. “No, I won’t. Not right now. Shh. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe. Breathe, Buck. Breathe for me.”

Bucky draws in a long, shaky breath, and lets it out slowly. “I…I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah, you should,” Steve’s voice is soft. “But we’re here now, and we just have to deal. But we’re going home. We aren’t staying this far from home when you’re sick.”

“I’m not _sick_ , I—I feel _fine_ ,”

“You just _fainted_ , Buck. You’re not fine.”

“No, but I—I don’t have a fever.”

“No, but there's still something wrong.”

Bucky sighs. Runs a hand over his face. “You’re gonna make me let Tony and Bruce look me over, aren’t you?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not gonna _make_ you do anything.”

There’s a moment of silence. Bucky is staring up at the ceiling. His face is still so pale. “Can we just—can we stay for tonight? See if this goes away on its own?”

Steve sighs. He scratches the back of his neck, thinking it over for a moment. He doesn’t think it’s the best idea to do that, but Bucky is just as stubborn as Steve, and Steve knows that it’s only going to make Bucky feel _worse_ if they go home straight away. He’ll feel like he’s let Steve down and he hasn’t stuck it out long enough.

He sighs again and leans down to kiss Bucky’s forehead. “Okay, Buck,” he says. “But if you have any more turns, you gotta tell me. Okay? Promise?”

Bucky nods, a little reluctantly. “I promise.”

 

Steve dries Bucky off and reluctantly lets him get himself in to his pyjamas. He goes to grab a bowl or three of cereal because it’s been two and a half hours since he last ate and, with his crazy metabolism, that's just far too long. He goes to check on Bucky, finding him doing as he’s told—just sitting up in bed with the TV on, watching something on Netflix.

“Alright?” Steve asks, poking his head through the door.

Bucky looks at him and nods, smiling softly. “I’m good, babydoll.”

“I’ll be through in a little while, okay?”

“Going to eat some more?”

“You know it.”

Bucky chuckles as Steve turns and walks back through to the kitchen. He makes two slices of toast and eats them in the armchair by the big windows, looking out across the quickly darkening night sky and all the city lights beginning to shine brighter. He thinks about Bucky, while he eats, wondering what the hell has been going on. Bucky doesn’t seem to know, either, which is even more confusing. And, judging by the fact Bucky is still extremely pale and lethargic, Steve is pretty sure they’re going to end up going home tomorrow. But it’ll be best to let Bucky try and wait it out, because otherwise he’ll feel like he’s failed, and Steve doesn’t want that. The pair of them are constantly hard on themselves.

He loads his plate and butter knife in to the dishwasher, then heads in to the bedroom, pecking a quick kiss to Bucky’s head before settling in beside him, sitting up against the headboard and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Bucky leans in to him and sighs. Steve can tell he’s exhausted.

“Steve,” Bucky says, and his voice is quiet and tentative.

“Yeah?” He runs a hand through Bucky’s hair, only half paying attention to the show playing on the TV screen in front of them.

“I—can I have some more water?”

“Of _course_ ,” Steve instantly gets up, reaching across Bucky to grab his empty glass. He must really be ill; it’s not like him to ask for things, even something as simple as a glass of water.   
Steve dashes to the kitchen, fills up the glass and another one just in case, and then heads back in to their room. He hands it to Bucky, but his hands are shaking and it starts to spill over the edges a little.

Steve frowns deeply. “Buck? You feeling rough?”

“Yeah, I—I just feel…weak, I guess,” he shakily puts the glass back on his nightstand and then leans back in to Steve, sighing once more. “I think I’m just tired after today, Steve. Don’t worry.”

“Bucky…,”

“Steve, please,” Bucky whispers. “Just let me…let me see if I’m gonna get better. Maybe all I need is so sleep. I don’t want—I don’t want to cut our weekend short.”

Steve hears his unspoken sentence of _I don’t want to go to a hospital or a doctor, Steve._

“Okay,” he relents. “Just tonight, though. If you’re not any better in the morning, we have to go home. You need to be in your own bed if you’re sick.” _This isn’t just a cold,_ Steve’s brain helpfully reminds him, moving his worry levels way up on the scale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter! thank you to those of you who commented on the first chapter. it's always great motivation to get the next installments edited and uploaded <3 and, as always, thank you for reading!   
> Love :* xxx


	3. Chapter 3

Six hours later, in the dim light that streams through the curtains from the city outside, Steve is awoken by a very loud crash coming from the bathroom.

He’s out of bed before he can even think, running in to the room to find Bucky on the floor again, out-cold and unresponsive.

Steve elevates his legs instantly and checks him over for any wounds he might have acquired when he fell. Thankfully, there are none, but Steve’s heart is _racing_ and he’s trying to get Bucky to wake up but also trying not to push it.

“Bucky,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm and level. It comes out trembling. “Bucky, can you hear me? Buck?”

He’s not waking up. _He’s not waking up_.

Steve is _frantic_. He checks Bucky’s head again, looking for signs of impact in case he has a concussion. It took him twenty five seconds to come around last time; now, they’re almost at a whole minute.

At around sixty three seconds, his eyelids finally begin to flutter, but Steve can’t even bring himself to be relieved because this is the second time this has happened in less than nine hours, and this time it’s _worse_.

“Buck? Hey, Buck, can you hear me? It’s me, it’s Steve,”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is shaky, trembling along with his hands. He looks around but doesn’t try to sit up. “Did I—”

“You fainted again, Buck,” Steve tells him. “Did you hit your head? Are you in any pain?”

Bucky shakes his head just a little. “No, I’m okay,”

“You are _not_ okay right now,”

“That’s not what I mean. My head—my head is okay.”

Steve sighs, feeling like he’s breathing for the first time since waking up. “Bucky…,”

Bucky sighs then, too, bringing a hand up to cover his face. “You’re going to make me see a doctor, aren’t you?”

“You know I’ll never make you do anything,” Steve says. He keeps his voice soft, bringing a hand up to gently stroke Bucky’s arm. It’s a comfort to Steve as much as Bucky. “But, Bucky, I have to take you home. I’m sorry.”

Bucky is silent for a long moment. Steve keeps touching his arm in what he hopes is a reassuring, loving gesture.

“Steve,” Bucky’s still talking through his hand, but Steve can hear how shaky and weak his voice is. “Promise me you’ll stay—you’ll stay right by me?”

“On the plane?”

“In the hospital,”

“Oh, Buck,” Steve feels his heart break just a little. “Always. I’ll always stay right by you. And we don’t know yet if we’re gonna go to hospital, okay? Let’s just focus on getting you home.” He knows it's kind of a lie, but they'll cross that bridge when they come to it.

Bucky sighs again. He lets his hand fall from his face. “Okay.”

“Alright, can you stand up for me? Let’s get you on the bed, get you some water.”

Steve helps him through to the room and lays him down on the bed, helping him sip some water before kissing him on the forehead. “I’m gonna call Tony, okay?”

Bucky just nods wordlessly and, well, a little reluctantly.

Steve leaves the bedroom door open when he goes through to the kitchen. He calls Tony right away.

“Did I do something horrible to you that I’m not aware of that made you want to call me at this early hour?”

“Tony, it’s like, 8am in New York. It’s not that early.”

“Yeah, but it’s _Saturday_ ,” he complains. “Anyhow, it must be important. What’s up?”

“Bucky’s sick,”

“What? You said Bucky never gets sick. Where have you been taking him that he's caught something, Cap?”

“No, Tony, this is _serious_. He’s _sick_. He’s fainted twice since we got here and almost another time as we got off the plane.”

“Shit,” Tony says, “what other symptoms?”

“He’s really pale, shaking sometimes, very weak and he keeps getting light-headed. I’m bringing him home.”

“Yeah, good call,” Tony exhales like he’s thinking. “Okay, um—yeah. Bring him in; I’ll call Bruce. It’s not like Bucky to be like this, is it?”

“Not at all.”

“Did he hit his head or anything? Any signs of concussion?”

“Not yet. I’m keeping an eye on it.”

“Okay. I’ll get the jet ready for you in an hour. That okay?”

“That’s perfect. Thank you, Tony.”

“Of course. And, listen, Steve?”

“Yeah?” He runs a hand through his hair and leans back against the kitchen counter.

“We’ll sort him out. He’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

Steve lowers his voice a little, hoping Bucky can’t hear his next words. “Listen, I…I don’t know how Bucky will cope with coming in to get checked over. He’s…,”

“Yeah,” Tony says, “you told me before. But we might have to find a way.”

“Yeah. I said to him that we’ll just get him home and then we’ll think about it.”

“Yeah. Okay, the plane is getting ready for you at the airport now and I’ve got a car coming to pick you up at the apartment in forty minutes, and then another once you land in NYC. No arguing, Cap,” he adds when Steve starts to protest, “your boy is sick. You’re gonna get driven home by someone else. I’m putting my foot down.”

Steve sighs. He feels so grateful, so thankful and lucky, that he has such great friends. He realises, then, that he hadn’t even thought twice about calling Tony; Steve knew that he’d be there to help without any questions asked. “Thank you, Tony,” Steve says eventually, struggling to find better words to express his gratitude. “Seriously.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you in a few hours. Don’t worry, Cap. I know you love to worry, but _don’t_.”

Weakly, Steve chuckles, sniffing against the tears that threaten to fall from his eyes. “Thanks, Tony. I’ll see you later.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Bye.”

He takes a moment just to gather himself before going back through; running a hand through his hair and taking a breath. He’s seriously worried; not just about the fact that Bucky’s really quite sick, but also because he knows they’re going to have a hard few days ahead of them.

“Hey, baby,” Steve says softly, feeling his heart break a little at the sight of Bucky lying in bed, exhaustion showing on all his features. “How you feeling?”

“Weak.”

“Okay, well, I talked to Tony. We’re going home.”

Bucky pouts and makes a little disappointed noise. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, looking up at Steve through hooded eyelids. “I didn’t mean to cut our trip short.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve tries for an encouraging smile. “It’s not your fault. I’m going to pack our things, get them ready by the door, get dressed and then come and help you up. Okay?”

“Mkay.”

Steve kisses his forehead. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Steve gets everything ready and then gets himself ready, putting on clothes, brushing his hair and brushing his teeth. He puts on some deodorant, tries to make himself look as presentable as possible in his grey sweatpants and baggy black hoody.

“Hey, Buck? Can you get yourself dressed, or do you need a hand?”

Bucky shakes his head sleepily. “I’m okay.” He slowly pushes himself up off the bed and manages to get himself in to some comfortable clothes. Steve takes his pyjamas and packs them in to their suitcase before zipping it up, everything now ready to go.

 

Bucky sleeps on the plane.

Pretty much as soon as they board, he curls up in the chair beside Steve and closes his eyes. Steve throws a blanket over him, sits down so Bucky can curl in to him with Steve’s arm over his shoulders, lips pressed to his head.

Steve watches a couple movies during the flight. He’s too worried right now to sleep, so he just comforts Bucky as best he can, making sure he knows he's not alone.

 

It’s 12.30pm by the time they get back to the Tower. They head up to their floor and Steve gets Bucky settled on the couch with blankets and his pillows, and then Steve sits at the end of it with Bucky’s feet over his lap.

“Just ask me, Steve,” Bucky says softly, blinking gently.

“Ask you what?”

“I know you want to ask me how I feel about seeing Tony and Bruce.”

Steve hesitates, biting his lip for a moment and looking Bucky over. “How _do_ you feel about it?” He asks carefully.

Bucky shrugs and leans his head in to the sofa cushions. He doesn’t look at Steve when he says, his voice just a mumble, “I feel like shit about it.”

Steve nods, rubbing Bucky’s ankle sympathetically. “I know, baby,” he says. “I know. But there might be something—something really wrong, Buck.”

He sighs. “I know,” and then, he takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders a little. “I’ll be fine,” he says it like he’s trying to convince himself, “I got this.”

Steve frowns, surprised by his sudden change of heart. “Really?”

“Yeah. It—it was a long time ago. I’ll be fine. It shouldn’t affect me anymore.”

“Buck, if it still affects you, that’s okay, you know? You went through a lot.”

“It’s pathetic,” he murmurs, looking down at his lap. He’s got that guarded, closed-off look on his face and Steve can tell he’s beating himself up about this.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Steve keeps his voice soft.

“You’re one to talk.”

“Buck.”

“Steve.”

Steve shakes Bucky’s ankle lightly. “Come on, Buck. Talk to me.”

“About what? About how I’m still caught up on something that happened to me seventy years ago?”

“Bucky—”

Bucky turns his head in to the couch cushions and shuffles further down so he’s completely shutting himself off from Steve. “Just call Tony. Take me down to the med wing.”

“Are…are you sure?” Steve doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can tell Bucky won’t budge. “Bucky…you were so—nervous before…,”

“I’m _fine_. Call him.”

So Steve does, but not without expressing to Tony that he has no idea what’s gotten in to Bucky, and he thinks they should still tread carefully.

They head down almost straight away, and if Steve’s holding his hand a little too tight, no one is mentioning it.

“Alright, Barnes, Steve said you might find this a little hard…,”

“I’ll be fine. Where do you want me? Over on that chair?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s perfect.”

Steve can feel Bucky’s hands shaking. “Buck…,”

Bucky just lets go and walks over to the slightly reclined body-length chair that sits by a couple of machines in the centre of the room. Bruce is standing over there already, and he smiles warmly at Bucky as he sits down.

Steve follows slowly, extremely worried because this is somehow even more horrible than Bucky reacting with fear. He’s trying to pretend he’s fine; trying to convince _himself_ that he’s fine. He’s trying to put on a brave face, to show that nothing can beat him or stop him, but Steve can _see_ it, all across his face and his body, that he’s terrified.

“You can take your time,” Bruce says. “What’s been going on?”

“I fainted twice in LA.”

“Were you feeling ill before then?”

“Yeah. I’ve been feeling light-headed for a couple weeks now. It kinda—came—came to a head these past few days,” he’s eyeing the light above his head as he speaks, trying to do it conspicuously. “I also kinda have been feeling out of control of my—of my body, I, uh—”

“Buck,” Steve says softly, noticing the way his voice is starting to tremble. “Take your time…,”

“I, uh—yeah, I’ve been feeling really weird. I almost punched a hole through the wall trying to kill a bug the other day, it—it was like—like my arm was just—” he watches Bruce push his glasses up his nose, looks back up at the light and around the room at the machines. “It was like—it, um—I just felt—” Steve watches as he looks down at the chair, subtly lifting up his arms to make sure he’s not being tied down. His chest is rising and falling rapidly as he tries to speak. “But yeah—I—I fainted, and—and—Steve—he—found me—”

“Bucky,” Steve reaches out to touch him but Bucky’s arm comes up to push him away, and that is the first time in their whole lives Bucky has done that when they’re not in an argument.

“I—” he’s gasping for air.

“Barnes,” Tony says softly, “it’s okay, take your time.”

Steve has never heard Tony speak so gently before. He must be seeing Bucky’s extreme distress too.

“I—I can’t—” his breath is catching in his throat, and then suddenly he’s getting up off the chair and darting for the door—when did he get that fast?—that leads to the bathroom down the hall, and Steve can faintly hear him throwing up.

Tony and Bruce both look over to him, concerned looks on their faces.

“I—I’ll just go check on him,” Steve stammers, rushing off in to the bathroom.

He finds Bucky folded over the toilet, breathing heavily, sweat clinging to the back of his shirt and dripping down his neck.

“Hey,” Steve says, voice gentle, “it’s only me.” He crouches down beside Bucky but doesn’t touch him, not yet. “Panic attack?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “I—I just—I couldn’t breathe—”

“It’s okay, take your time,”

He takes a few shallow, shaky breaths. Steve watches him, wanting to reach out and brush his hair back and rub his back.

“I felt—I felt all I felt back—back then, I…the pain, Steve…the _pain_ …,”

“Shh,” he soothes.

“It hurt so much,” he wheezes, “it—I felt so sick—it hurt—it _hurts_ —”

“Buck,” Steve whispers, “can I touch you?”

Bucky nods weakly, so Steve reaches out and places a careful hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles.

“Can you breathe with me, Buck?” Steve begins to breathe evenly and smoothly, watching as Bucky slowly begins to follow along, his chest heaving less and less by the minute. He coughs a few times, throat raw from his tears and being sick.

“Alright?” Steve questions.

Bucky nods again. “I’m okay.”

“Okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay for you to feel like this. It doesn’t matter how long ago it was.”

“Sorry I snapped at you so much, earlier,”

“You don’t need to be sorry, babydoll.”

“I just—I thought I could fight it…but just…seeing all that stuff…I…,”

“I know, it’s okay,” Steve presses a kiss to the side of Bucky’s head. “Come on, let’s take you home.”

“I—I know I need to get checked over,”

“Yeah, Buck, but we can work up to that. They might even be able to come up and talk to us in our apartment; no machines, no lights.”

Bucky nods. “That might work.” He looks thoroughly exhausted, skin pale, eyes sunken.

“Come on, doll. I got you.”

 

Bucky doesn’t fall asleep when he gets home, even though he looks exhausted. He says his brain is still too wired from his panic attack; that his heart is still racing and he doesn’t think he could fall asleep because of it. So they stay up watching a movie for a while, and as much as Steve tries to stay wide awake, his eyes are drifting every few minutes and he has to shake himself awake.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers.

“Mm?”

“You can go to sleep.”

“No, I’m okay.” He sits up a little more.

Bucky squeezes Steve’s thigh where his hand rests and Steve can hear the small smile in his voice when he talks. “Babydoll, I’m okay. You don’t have to stay up for me. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

Steve looks up at him through sleepy lashes. “Are you sure?”

He nods, reaching up to push some hair back from Steve’s forehead. “I’m sure. I’m okay.”

Steve nods. “I love you, Buck. Wake me if you need me, okay?”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he kisses Steve’s forehead. “Do you mind if I leave the movie on?”

“‘Course not,” Steve pecks Bucky’s lips and then settles in beside him, using Bucky’s thigh as a pillow and cuddling in close. “I’m here, Buck.”

“I know. I’m okay.” His hand comes down to stroke through Steve’s hair, and Steve sighs happily against him.

 

When Steve wakes up, Bucky is still sitting up against the headboard – if a little slumped now – but he’s asleep. His head is tilted down on to his shoulder, a little pout on his lips, and it doesn’t look like a very comfortable position but he looks peaceful. Still tired, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by, but peaceful.

Steve gets out of bed as carefully as possible, constantly keeping an eye on his boyfriend to make sure he stays asleep. Once he’s clear of the bedroom, he decides against a shower because it might be too loud, so instead he heads through to the kitchen to cook breakfast. It’s 9am; Bucky never usually sleeps in this late.

Steve makes pancakes, bacon, toast and eggs, and takes it through to Bucky on a bed tray. He’s awake when he walks through, blinking sleepily in the room and rearranging himself so he’s sitting up properly.

“Morning, babydoll,” Steve smiles softly.

Bucky looks up at him and a small, bashful smile spreads across his face when he sees the tray of food. “You didn’t have to cook breakfast.”

Steve shrugs one shoulder, putting the tray down on the bed between Bucky and himself. “I wanted to. It’s 10 O’clock, you’re up late today. Wanted to get some food in you.”

“It looks amazing, Steve. Thank you.” Bucky turns in his place and reaches out for a knife and fork, cutting in to a pancake that’s drenched in maple syrup.

“It’s no problem,” Steve smiles, picking up a rasher of bacon and popping it in his mouth. “How are you feeling today?”

“Mm…okay. Kind of the same. Not as anxious, though.”

“That’s good, then,” Steve encourages, taking a forkful of eggs.

Bucky picks up his mug of coffee and sighs, running his finger over the rim of the ceramic. He takes a small sip, then just holds the mug in his hands, as if trying to warm them. “What’s going to happen, Steve?”

Steve frowns. “What d’ya mean?”

“With me? And the…tests?”

Steve sighs through his nose, trying to find a way to phrase it without freaking Bucky out. He’d been hoping to have this conversation later; or any time when Bucky hasn’t just woken up. “Well,” he starts, tone soft, “I was thinking, they’re probably gonna want a blood test before anything else. So maybe we could do that up here. Just Bruce, you, and me. Just to start with.”

“With…needles?” Bucky asks, trying to keep his tone casual as he looks down at his plate of scrambled eggs. Steve has a feeling he already knows the answer.

“Yeah, Buck. But you don’t have to look, and I’ll be right there. Hell, Bruce won’t even mind if you cry.”

Bucky chuckles weakly, running a hand through his ever-growing hair. “I just don’t want to freak him out if I…,” he sighs.

“Hey, Bruce has seen a lot himself,” Steve reassures, abandoning his fork and instead reaching out to hold Bucky’s hand. “Nothing spooks him.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Hey,” Steve cups Bucky’s cheek in his hand. “You can do this.”

Taking a deep breath, Bucky meets Steve’s eyes. He nods, seeming only half sure. “Yeah,” he says. “And I know I have to.”

“It’s gonna be worth it. You’ll feel so much better once we figure this out.”

“I know.”

“I love you, you strong, insanely brave man.”

Bucky chuckles, turning his head to kiss the inside of Steve’s wrist. “I love you, too.”

 

Steve loads the dishwasher before making a few calls, cleaning up the apartment a bit and unpacking their suitcases while Bucky dozes in bed. He had started feeling a little better after breakfast – well enough to get up and have a quick shower, saying he felt like he hadn’t showered since 1945 – but within forty minutes, he was dizzy enough to need to lie back down again, much to his disappointment.

Bruce comes by in the afternoon. Bucky tries to take a nap around noon, but he’s so nervous for his blood tests that he just sits up and lets Steve hold him, telling stories and talking about all things random and unimportant.

When Bruce arrives, Bucky is already sitting on the couch, his right arm out on the arm of it.

“Alright?” Steve checks softly, sitting beside him and reaching out to take his hand.

Bucky nods, not quite meeting his eyes.

Bruce is, of course, careful and conscientious the entire time, checking Bucky is okay. Bucky starts out confident, sitting up straight and taking deep breaths. But by the fourth vial, he’s turning his head to press his face in to Steve’s neck, their hands tightening together.

“You’re doing so good,” Steve says softly in to his ear, hoping it’s quiet enough that only Bucky can hear. “You got this.”

“Almost done now,” Bruce assures, “just one more vial to go and we’re done.”

Bucky gets through it, Steve breathing evenly so Bucky can follow along with him.

“Alright. I’ll take these down to the lab and we’ll have the results later. Hopefully we won’t have to do any more tests after this.”

“We’ll play it by ear,” Steve says, more to Bucky than Bruce, and Bruce smiles softly up at Steve before nodding in agreement.

“Alright, Bucky, you did good. I’ll see you guys later.” He collects his things and Steve stands up, reaching out to shake his hand.

“Thanks, Bruce. You’ve been great.”

“No problem. Happy to help.”

Steve walks Bruce to the door and then heads back in to the living room, finding Bucky sitting there with his head tipped back against the back of the sofa, looking up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, sitting down beside him and reaching out to rest a hand on his thigh. “How we doing?”

Bucky takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’m…okay.”

“Sure?”

He lifts his head, nods, and then curls in his place to press himself against Steve, face resting against his shoulder and legs curling over his lap.

Steve wraps his arms around him and holds him in close. “You did good today,” he says gently, stroking Bucky’s hair. “I’m proud of you.”

“Mm.” Bucky hums thankfully, tightening his grip on Steve.

“You wanna watch a movie, or…?”

He shakes his head. “No,” and then, quietly, as if ashamed to admit it, “not feeling good.”

“Physically, or…?”

“Yeah. Bit dizzy.”

Steve frowns. “You shouldn’t feel too bad after a small blood test like that.”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe it’s not anything to do with the blood. Can we not talk about it?”

“Of course. Do you wanna eat?”

“No. Just cuddle.”

Softly, Steve chuckles, resting his chin on top of Bucky’s head and holding him in close.

Bucky dozes for a while, maybe an hour or so. Steve’s stomach is cramping like crazy, though, because he’s seriously hungry, so he has to untangle himself from Bucky to get up and have something to eat. “Want anything?” He asks a sleepy Bucky, tucking some hair off his face.

“Yeah. Whatever you’re having.”

Steve makes some toast, four slices for himself and, per Bucky’s request, just two for him. He puts Nutella on Bucky’s toast, knowing it’s his favourite, and jelly on his own.

Bucky’s face lights up just a little when Steve comes back across to the living room with the plates and mugs of coffee on trays. “Thank you,” he smiles, accepting his plate.

“No problem.”

“I think I’m hungrier than I thought I was.”

Steve chuckles. “I can make you more toast if you like.”

He gives him a charming smile and dramatically flutters his eyelashes. “Please?”

* * *

“You think he’ll be okay coming down to talk about his results?”

Steve sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know. He’ll probably pretend he’s fine with it but it might end up like…,”

“Yesterday. Yeah. Okay, we’ll come to you then. That OK?”

“Yeah, I—are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m really going out of my way, actually.”

Steve chuckles weakly, used to Tony’s sarcasm by now, knowing what he means beneath his jokes. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Bruce is gonna be here really soon, then we’ll be up.”

“That works. See you then.”

Steve walks through to their room where Bucky is lying on the bed, recovering from an almost-faint five minutes ago that they managed to stop by putting his head down between his legs.

“How you feeling?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Bad. Not as bad as five minutes ago.”

Steve sits down beside him and reaches out to run a hand through his lovely hair. “Well, Tony and Bruce are coming up soon so maybe we’ll be able to figure this out.”

“Good,” he murmurs, not opening his eyes, “we can kick whatever this is in the ass.”

“Damn right.”

They lie together for a half hour, just holding each other in silence, occasionally sharing lazy kisses and little nuzzles against each other’s skin. Steve can tell Bucky is anxious. He doesn’t blame him. Steve is anxious, too.

There’s a knock at their apartment door after a while and Steve gives Bucky one last kiss before getting up to answer it. Bruce and Tony come in and Bucky walks through from their room, trying to look casual while holding on to the wall so his wobbly legs don’t give out underneath him.

“How you feeling, soldier?” Tony asks, clapping him on the back when he goes to sit on the sofa. Steve perches beside him.

Bucky shrugs. “Not great.”

“Well,” Tony sits in the armchair opposite the couch, and Bruce settles in the one beside him. “We have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“The good news,”

“The bad news,”

Steve and Bucky answer at the same time. Steve looks over at Bucky and smiles gently.

“Well, Barnes is the patient. What he says goes. Sorry, Boyfriend.”

Bucky lets out a weak little chuckle and shrugs one shoulder. “Good news first.”

“Okay, well, the good news is—there’s nothing in your blood to indicate a serious disease or anything like that,” Bruce starts. “Of course, there’s still a chance of that, but…,”

“But – and now’s for the bad news – we think we already know what the problem is.” Tony says.

Steve frowns confusedly. “Why is that bad news?”

“It’s…it might just bring back some bad memories.” Bruce keeps his voice gentle and even.

“Okay, there’s no good way to tell you this so I’m just gonna come out and say it. There’s traces of the serum in your blood. Well, actually, not _traces_. The serum is very much in your blood.”

The room goes silent for a long, drawn out moment. Steve can hear Bucky breathing beside him, heavy and short breaths being drawn. His heart is pounding in his ears, confusion rushing through his head.

Steve is the first to speak once he can finally talk past the dryness of his mouth. He looks between Bruce and Tony, frowning. “Wait—what?”

“Well…we don’t know how it happened,” Bruce says softly, “but…it’s there. We tested several times. It’s slightly different to the molecular structure of Steve’s serum, but essentially it’s the same. It’s taken longer to take effect in you because of those differences.”

“How—why? When?”

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but Bucky gets there first.

“When Hydra took me,” his voice is lost; far away.  “That’s when it was.”

Steve turns to him. “What?”

“I—” Bucky tries to speak, but his words fade off.

“The reason you’ve been fainting is because you haven’t been eating enough for your fast metabolism.” Bruce explains, and all the pieces start to fit in to place.

Steve breathes a sigh, knowing now that it’s something they can sort out, but at the same time the knot of anxiety grows tighter in his stomach because this was _Hydra._ He has so many questions, so many things running through his head; most of which are along the lines of _oh my God, Bucky, Bucky…_

Steve takes Bucky’s hand and squeezes tightly. He glances quickly at Bucky, and his heart breaks when he sees his face; his eyes are so lost and in pain, filled to the brim with tears as if the slightest movement will tip him over the edge. His hand is clenching in to a fist on his lap. Steve worries his nails might be digging in to his palm.

“Bucky…,” Steve says softly. There’s no response. Not even a flicker of an expression on his face; he’s just staring at nothing, sitting so still, looking like he’s either about to flip a table or break down sobbing. Maybe both.

“Barnes? You with us?” Tony asks, and the concern in his voice does nothing to help Steve’s nerves.

“Uh…,” Steve looks over to Bruce and Tony, “maybe we should pick this up later?”

Bucky opens his mouth as if to protest, and everyone looks to him, but he seems to choke on his words before any sound can come out and soon enough he’s closing his mouth again, swallowing heavily and blinking fast as if to ward off tears.

“Alright,” Bruce says. “To be honest, there’s not much left to say. We need to adjust his food and water intake, and then, all being well, he should be good as new.”

“We can talk about details later,” Tony’s already standing up. “We’ll talk soon. You two get some rest.”

Steve knows he should get up and walk them out, but he doesn’t want to leave Bucky’s side right now.

Tony seems to notice his hesitation because he waves a subtle, nonchalant hand at Steve and says, quietly, “stay there, Rogers. We’re good.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, “thank you for everything.”

Tony even manages a small little genuine smile. “We’ll talk soon.”

Once the front door closes and it’s just Steve and Bucky on their own once more, Steve turns to him and bites his lip at the sight of him. All the colour has drained from his face and he still looks like he’s about to cry. His chest is rising and falling in long, deep movements, and Steve recognises the shake of his hands and the depth of his breaths a mile off.

“Hey, Buck, it’s okay,” Steve keeps his voice soft and reassuring. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

“They—” Bucky grits out, his voice rough and low, “they—they did this to me, I—I forgot—but when they said—when Tony and Bruce told us—I r—remembered—” His words are being interrupted by long, shaky inward breaths and his eyes are clouding over more and more by the second.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay, breathe, Buck,” Steve smoothes his thumb over Bucky’s knuckles. “Can you breathe for me? Just evenly, okay…in…out…in…,”

Bucky tries to follow Steve’s counts for a few moments but it fails, and he just ends up shaking his head desperately and leaning down to put his head in his hands. “I—can’t—the pain, Steve, the—the pain,”

“Shh, it’s okay, this is gonna pass. You’re with me, you’re safe, this will pass. I promise.”

He’s breathing through clenched teeth and his breaths are ragged, like he’s trying with all his might to overpower his panic attack and take control again, but it’s just not working. He growls a little in frustration, and it turns in to a sob after a minute; followed by more sobs, deep and throaty, tears streaming down his face as he struggles to breathe.

“Hey, Bucky, I need you to breathe with me,” Steve puts a careful hand on Bucky’s back and rubs in slow, repetitive circles. He begins to count out even breaths, accompanying his own even breathing, encouraging Bucky to follow along. He does, after a couple minutes, and they spend a while just recovering his breaths back to normal, getting the sobs under control so Bucky can breathe easier. Steve murmurs encouraging words to him every few moments. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

Bucky breathes in a deep, shaky breath and lets it out with a sigh. His head is still in his hands, but he’s breathing easier now and is no longer crying quite as intensely.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, “you with me?”

Bucky nods. “I’m with you.”

“Anything I can do?”

He shakes his head and then lifts it from his hands, leaning back against the sofa and tipping his head back against it so his gaze is on the ceiling. “No. What’s done is done, I guess.”

Steve brushes a piece of hair back from Bucky’s face and then gently pecks him on the cheek. “At least we know why you’ve been fainting.”

“Yeah. But we also know more about what Hydra did to me, and maybe even what they were intending to use me for before…before you…before you came back for me.”

Steve’s heart clenches in his chest. He takes Bucky’s hand in his and holds on tight. “But they didn’t get to use you,” he says, his own voice shaking a little now, too. “You’re here, with me, and you’re safe.”

“This is…I didn’t choose this.”

“I know. It’s disgusting that they experimented on you and—and put this in your body without your consent, I…sorry. Do you not want me to rant about this?”

He chuckles, weak and wet. “Rant away.”

Steve sighs through his nose. “I’m sorry, Bucky,” he says instead of the rant he wants to get in to. “I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, half-heartedly shrugging one shoulder and trying to lift one side of his mouth in to a smile. It comes out more as a grimace, though. “Maybe it’s not so bad. You’re not the only super soldier in this house anymore.”

Steve chuckles, heart swelling with love and affection for the man sitting in front of him. This brave, _brave_ man. “I guess not.”

“I guess this explains why I almost punched a whole through the wall trying to kill that fly.”

“I remember after my procedure, it was so weird how out of control my limbs felt.”

“I get it now.”

“Oh, _this_ is why you didn’t get drunk the other day!”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky blinks in surprise, “I guess that makes sense.”

“Are you hungry?”

Bucky smirks weakly. “Apparently I’ve been hungry for almost seventy years, but I just didn’t know it.”

Chuckling, Steve leans in and presses his forehead in to Bucky’s temple. He brings up one hand and cups his cheek, smoothing his thumb over Bucky’s skin. “I love you so much,” he whispers. “So, so much. And you are the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

He scoffs. “Not true. That’s you.”

“Uh-uh,” Steve protests, pecking his cheekbone quickly, “nope. You’re the bravest person in the entire damn world.”

Bucky laughs. It’s a tired laugh, but it’s a laugh, and the sound makes Steve’s heart soar. “I’m not gonna win this fight, am I?”

“Nope. I could do this all day.”

“Of course you could.” He rolls his eyes playfully, and turns his head to kiss Steve on the lips.

“Alright, Barnes. Food. Now. What d’you want? Toast again?”

“Toast sounds _great_.”

“Coming right up.”

“Hey,” Bucky takes hold of his arm before he can stand up.

Steve turns to him. “What is it?”

“I love you,” he smiles gently, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Steve leans in, capturing his lips softly with his own, lingering there for a long moment.

* * *

It feels kind of strange; the fact that all this time, all Bucky needed to do was eat more. That doesn’t make the problem any less serious, of course; food is _important._ But Bucky says he just never felt hungry; probably because he wasn’t expecting himself to.

But now that he knows why he feels so faint and why it happens so often, it’s like his body is making up for lost time and filling in all the gaps that a lack of food created. Bruce said that this might happen; it’s called “reactive eating”, where the body is suddenly being fed enough again, and it just wants more and more to repair the damage done to the body by not consuming enough.

So, the next few nights are spent sleeping for a couple hours, but then getting up to eat.

Which is kind of what Steve already did, if he didn’t eat a lot before bed, but with Bucky it’s double the amount of times. Steve doesn’t mind. Bucky keeps trying to tell him to stay in bed, but the smell of toast wafting down the hall from the kitchen is very hard to resist, and Steve’s always-hungry stomach gives a keen little growl every time.

Tony teases just once about the size of their grocery shops in those first few days, but no more than once; Steve suspects it’s because he knows the importance of this and how Bucky is still coming to terms with the fact that he has the serum in him.

Steve catches him staring at himself in the mirror one evening, just standing in his boxers, looking himself up and down with a look on his face that Steve can’t quite decipher.

“Buck?” Steve questions lightly, walking up behind Bucky and meeting his eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

“Do you think I look different?”

Steve looks at his body. Doesn’t touch him yet; just in case. He’s not sure yet if Bucky is on the edge of panicking. “Would it be bad if you did?” He asks carefully.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “I’m just…seeing myself differently now.”

“In…a bad way?”

He seems to think about this for a moment, frowning and pursing his lips slightly. Steve rests a gentle hand on Bucky’s waist, and he relaxes just the tiniest bit at the contact, which is a good sign. Eventually, he speaks. “I don’t know.” He admits.

Steve rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “You were always pretty muscle-y, Buck.”

“What was it like?” Bucky asks suddenly, lifting his head and turning to face Steve. His eyes are sad and lost and scared. “For you? You—your body changed so much, and I just…,”

Steve waits for a moment in case his sentence continues, but it doesn’t, so he reaches out and softly cups Bucky’s cheek. “It was strange. I didn’t feel like me, for a while.”

Bucky nods, like he understands. “It’s strange. I’ve been like this for so long and I haven’t noticed I look any different. But now that I know…I feel like I’m in a new body. Like I…had something taken from me.”

“That’s understandable,” Steve keeps his voice soft and, hopefully, reassuring. “You didn’t have a choice in this. It’s okay for you to feel violated.”

Bucky sighs, looking down at the floor and clenching his jaw. “I don’t know how to feel.”

“Well,” Steve smiles, “if it’s any help, you look just as gorgeous as ever.”

He chuckles lightly, still a little sad, and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, hugging him weakly. He pillows his head on Steve’s shoulder, who holds him gently.

“How do you feel about, maybe…talking to someone? Someone who’s…not me. Someone who can help you cope.”

“Like a shrink?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not a bad thing, it’s—it’s good. It’s healthy to have a therapist. Maybe talking about it might help.”

Bucky sighs. Steve feels his breath on his neck. “Maybe. For now, can we just…hug? Pretend none of this is happening? Just for a while.”

Steve kisses the top of Bucky’s head and holds him tighter, cradling him against his body. “Of course.”

 

It takes a while, but Bucky comes around to the idea of therapy. Steve thinks the tipping point was when he’d been awake four nights in a row, having only had a couple hours sleep in that time because of nightmares and insomnia. He got so tired and cranky and down that he decided there was nothing else for him to do but talk to someone.

Steve hated seeing him like that – in such a broken, anxious state – but it did get him to make his first appointment with a therapist, and Bucky seemed to get a little less anxious after he made the decision. Like he knew what the right decision truly was, and he had just made it.

Now it’s the day of Bucky’s appointment, and the doctor comes to Bucky to try and reduce as much anxiety as possible. They meet in one of Tony’s offices, and Steve goes to the common room to try and distract himself.

Nat and Sam are in there, playing a game of cards at the table in the kitchen area. They use this space for movie nights; it’s big and open, there’s a kitchen, and plenty of comfortable places to sit.

“Hey,” he says as he walks in, trying to sound as chipper as possible. It’s not very successful. But.

Nat turns to him and smiles a little half-smile, like she does. “Hey. Why are you moping?”

“I’m not _moping_.” Steve huffs, sitting on the sofa and running a hand through his hair.

Natasha smirks. “You are _so_ moping.”

Steve sighs. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m _anxious_.”

“What’s up?” Sam asks, shuffling the deck of cards.

“Bucky, he’s…,” Steve hesitates, not sure if he should tell them Bucky’s in therapy. It doesn’t seem right, to tell Bucky’s private things like that.

“He told us,” Nat’s voice is surprisingly soft, “about the therapy.”

Steve looks up at her and frowns curiously. “He did?”

“Yeah. He mentioned it yesterday.”

“You alright?” Sam’s pauses his actions with the cards and looks at Steve with a concerned, gentle frown.

“Yeah. Just—worried about him, I guess.”

“He’s strong,” Nat says, “he’s got this.”

“I know. I just feel helpless, sitting out here. I want to know what’s going on in there, you know?”

“Come play cards with us,” Sam says, not giving Steve much of a choice as he deals Steve in. Steve gets up and sits beside him, and then Sam speaks again, his voice careful. “You know, he may not tell you what goes on in his sessions. And if he doesn’t, you have to be okay with that.”

Yeah, Steve can see why Sam works at the VA. He says things like that with such compassion that Steve doesn’t feel bad hearing it. “I know. I just want to help him.”

Nat plays her first card. (They’re playing Black Jack, apparently.) “He knows that.”

“I know you worry about him,” Sam says, “but you’re doing all you can. So is he. And you’re not alone anymore. You have us, to help you through.”

Steve smiles, grateful and just a little overwhelmed with how lucky he and Bucky are to have friends like this. They both know that, if and when they feel ready to join their team and fight, they would trust these people with their lives.

“Thanks, guys. You’re all…just. You’re great.” Steve doesn’t really know how to put it in to words without making himself cringe.

“Well, we’re here for anything you need.”

Steve sighs, playing a card. “We’re gonna need all kinds of help when the world eventually finds out about me and Bucky,” he says. “I know how…people know who we are. And Pepper spoke to me a few days ago about the fact that people might find out without us wanting to, so we have to think about whether we want to make an official announcement.”

Nat scoffs. “I really fucking hate how the world thinks they have a right to know who’s in a relationship with who, just because they know our names.”

“It’s just the way it is,” Steve shrugs one shoulder. “It’s stupid and ridiculous but we have to just…deal with it, I guess.”

Sam takes a sip of his coffee and then plays another card, hitting Nat with a two of hearts, meaning if she doesn’t have a two, she has to pick up two cards. (She doesn’t have a two.) “Have you talked to Bucky about it?”

He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t want to worry him before his first appointment.”

“That’s fair enough,” Sam says, and Steve can tell there’s a ‘but’ coming. “But I think he needs to know. He might even want to talk about it in therapy.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll…tell him as soon as I can.”

“Well, whatever you decide, we’re here.”

“Thanks, Sam. Both of you. _All_ of you.”

“What are friends for?” Nat says, and there’s a smirk in her voice as she lays a black jack. “Got any jacks?” She asks, smug and pleased with herself.

Steve looks at his hand, hoping a red or black jack has magically appeared. He scoffs, a smile tugging at his lips as he begins to pick up seven cards from the deck. “Some friend you are.”

* * *

Steve is there for Bucky as soon as he comes out of the office where his appointment was. His eyes are red-rimmed as he walks through the door, and he looks pretty exhausted, his shoulders hunched and dark circles under his eyes. But his face softens a little when he sees Steve.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out to take Steve’s hand.

“Hey,” Steve watches him before walking away, looking him over and making sure he’s okay. “Alright?”

Bucky nods, only seeming half sure. “Can we go back home?”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand and nods, setting off down the hall, Bucky pressing in to his side. “I’m really proud of you, Buck.” He murmurs, so quietly he’s surprised Bucky hears him.

Bucky lets go of his hand and instead wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, huddling in close. Steve reciprocates with an arm over Bucky’s shoulder, and they walk all the way back to their place like that, not saying anything, just being together.

 

Bucky sighs when they walk through the front door, and Steve heads straight in to the kitchen to make some coffee. Buck follows him through, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded over his chest.

“Hey, you can go sit down if you want. I’ll be through in a minute.”

Bucky shakes his head. He looks tired still. “I’m okay.”

“I…want you to know that you don’t have to tell me about it,” Steve says as he puts a filter in to the coffee machine. “You can have your therapy just between you and your therapist. I don’t even have to ask you how it was. But also, if you _do_ want to talk about it, I’m here. Always.” Tentatively, he looks over at Bucky to see a small, gentle smile on his face.

“I love you,” he says.

Steve wasn’t expecting that, but he feels his face light up at Bucky’s words. “I love you too.”

“I might talk about it. I might not. I’m not sure yet. But…you can ask me how it was.”

Steve walks over and kisses Bucky’s forehead. “How was it?”

“Tiring. Hard. But not as awful as I thought.”

“I’m glad. What do you need?”

“Right now, I just wanna sit and drink coffee with you. That’s what I need.”

“Now _that_ is something I can always do.”

 

Steve doesn’t bring up the idea of their relationship going public until four days later when Bucky is having a relatively good day; his best day since finding out about Hydra and the serum. He’s been dealing with a lot of memories coming back to him, in flashbacks and slower-appearing memories of what they did to him when he was captured. It’s been particularly bad at night, so it’s been tough, long and tiring.

But today, there’s a little more light behind his eyes, and he’s talking a little more, and Steve knows he has to talk to him about this before it gets to him via someone who isn’t Steve.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve asks from his place on the couch.

Bucky is in the kitchen making coffee. “Yeah?” He calls through, then comes in with two mugs, placing them on the coffee table before sitting by Steve.

“I just, uh…I just need to talk to you about something.”

Bucky frowns, absentmindedly putting a hand on Steve’s leg. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just…Pepper spoke to me the other day. About us.”

Bucky’s frown turns curious and he rubs his thumb over the fabric of Steve’s jeans.

“She wanted us to think about the idea of…telling the public about me and you. The fact we’re together. She said that people are probably going to find out on their own, at some point, somehow, and that we need to think about if we want to make the announcement ourselves.”

He frowns for a moment, looking away from Steve and clearly thinking deeply. Steve watches him nervously. He scratches the back of his neck, waiting as patiently as he can. He tries to resist the urge to anxiously bounce his knee up and down, but it’s not an easy feat.

Eventually, Bucky replies. He doesn’t look at Steve. “Why do we have to tell anyone at all? It’s…no one else’s business.”

“I know,” Steve takes Bucky’s hand and squeezes it. “But it’s just the way it works when you’re as…well known as us. Especially now, in this new world.”

“I guess so.”

“And I know it’s especially weird for us, because we’ve spent our whole relationship trying so desperately to hide it from everyone, until now.”

“It kind of goes against everything we’ve ever conditioned ourselves for. I’m only just used to the team knowing about us.”

Steve sighs softly. “I know.”

“But…I think I’d rather people find out from us than it be some news scandal we wake up to one morning and have to deal with the fall out.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. He runs a hand through his hair and then rubs it down over his face, looking back up at Steve. “Maybe we should do it. Just…rip the band aid off.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He frowns a little. “You not sure?”

“No, I…I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever be _sure_. Am I ever sure about anything?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever sure of anything. But I’m sure of you.”

Steve finds himself grinning a little. “You’re such a sap.”

Bucky hums, smiling and pecking Steve’s nose. “Only ’cause I love you so much.”

Playfully, Steve rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss Bucky’s lips. “I love you too.”

“So, what d’ya think? Wanna think about it a little more?”

“Honestly, I don’t know how thinking about it will help. I think making an ‘announcement’” – he uses his fingers for quote marks – “is the lesser of two evils. Either way, we have to deal with the media; and I’d rather it be on our schedule, when we’re expecting it, rather than something the world turns in to a scandal because we kept it a secret.”

Bucky nods. Takes Steve’s hand and squeezes it. “I agree.”

Sighing, Steve tips his head back against the back of the sofa. “I hate that we have to tell people,” he admits, even though he knows more than anyone the price of being a public figure, and he accepted this a long time ago. His voice is quiet; almost ashamed. “I know I—I know ever since I became…Captain America, I’ve always had expectations put on me. And with that comes the expectation that the world should know things about me. But I just—why do they have to know _this_? You’re the one thing in my life that has always been real, and just between us, and it’s just…,” his words fade off in to a sigh. He’s not really sure how to put this in to words; if what he just said made any sense whatsoever.

Bucky nods, sympathetic and understanding.

(It’s funny, because Steve thought he’d have to console Bucky about this. Turns out, it’s the other way around.)

“I know, babydoll,” he says, smoothing his thumb softly over Steve’s knuckles. “It’s weird. Standing up in front of the entire world and saying, ‘ _hey, I’m in a relationship with this person; now you all know!’_ feels so unnatural. Especially for us.”

“I know it’s the way it is, but…,”

“It’s okay if you’re not ready for it. We can wait a while.”

For a moment, Steve closes his eyes, letting himself breathe, trying to untangle the knot of anxiety that’s built up in his stomach. He knows that telling people with their own voices is the best way to go. Let’s face it—Pepper is right; in this new world with all the technology and social media and how everyone is always so plugged-in…someone is bound to find out about their relationship, probably sooner rather than later. And that someone might post about it online, and then, that would be _it_. A media storm that no one saw coming.

A part of it feels wrong that they are somehow obliged to share their relationship with the world.

But also, Steve knows, deep down, that this is kind of what they’ve always wanted. After all, haven’t they spent countless nights lying awake together in their little bed back in Brooklyn, imagining what it’d be like to be able to walk down the street holding hands? For Steve to be able to say, ‘yeah, Bucky Barnes is my boyfriend’, and for Bucky to be able to say the same about Steve. It’s not like they’re going to shout it from the rooftops once the world knows; but it might be nice for this not to be a secret anymore.

Bucky notices Steve’s little smile and nudges their joined hands. Steve opens his eyes to see him smirking.

“What’s that little smile for?” Bucky asks.

“I’m just thinking about the concept of being able to take you out on a date.”

Bucky’s mouth splits in to a huge grin. “That’s what we’ve always dreamed of.”

Steve sits up a little. “And, yeah, it won’t be perfectly ideal because we’re still pretty famous and we’d have to go somewhere low-key, but…,”

“But it’s still a date.”

He nods, looking in to Bucky’s eyes and smiling softly, feeling his heart tug with love and affection for him. “It’s still a date.”

* * *

Pepper makes a formal announcement to the press the next week. At the same time, they announce that Steve and Bucky are officially joining the Avengers. There is a sea of questions, but announcing about them joining has softened the blow of their relationship news a little.

They hold a press conference – Pepper, Tony, Steve, Bucky and Nat – and although there are a multitude of questions about the fact that Steve and Bucky are and always have been a couple, they manage to deflect a lot of those questions and sort of turn them in to answers about the Avengers.

Steve and Bucky stay hidden away for a week after the announcement, just to let the media storm die down a little. If there’s one thing they know about the media is that news comes and news goes. It moves on and on, and although there are still some magazines begging for any kind of gossip about the pair, they’re not the number one topic being talked about everywhere.

But now, it’s been ten days, and they’re finally going out on their first ever real date.

Tony sets them up at a pretty high-end restaurant where it’s unlikely they’ll get mobbed by fellow diners. They go out in a low-key car and the restaurant allows them to enter through the back doors; having been paid by Tony to be extra careful with their discretion surrounding these two customers.

They eat, they laugh, they hold hands. They even peck each other on the lips a couple times over the table.

They’re being a _couple_. In _public_.

And it’s a date. A real date.

Sure, they still sort of have to hide; they can’t go out to a random restaurant without the risk of being mobbed by paparazzi, or out for a walk by the water without being stopped by people asking for autographs. But that’s because they’re Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. People know who they are. That’s just the way it is.

Now, everyone knows they’re a couple; and the attention they may draw by being together in public is not the kind of attention that’ll get them arrested.

It’s strange but it’s amazing.

It’s a date. It’s multiple dates. It’s finding a new life together, here with a new group of friends in a world so different but so wonderful.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 i hope you enjoyed this fic, y'all! comments are always wonderful if you can <3
> 
> Love :* xxx

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this chapter, please do hit that subscribe button because there are two parts left to come after this, set in the future. this fic is complete; I just need to edit it!  
> please do leave a kudos if you enjoyed, and comments are always the fuel to my writing fire :')))  
> also, follow me on tumblr if you like! it's mostly just me screaming about stucky... notfornothingx.tumblr.com :)  
> Love :* xxx


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